


The Man In The Black Cells

by Aviss



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Season/Series 07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-04-11 17:35:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19114477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aviss/pseuds/Aviss
Summary: He might have been allowed to leave the map room but Jaime doesn't fool himself that his sister is letting him go. He's seen it on her face, the cold fury that he would defy her and dared to leave her; she had signed his death sentence then and there, even if it hasn't been carried out yet.Jaime leaves Cersei, but he never makes it to Winterfell. After the War for the Dawn, a wounded and heartbroken Brienne goes home to Tarth to recuperate.





	1. Prologue - Due North

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I was done with show canon but then I got basically jumped by another idea. Canon divergence from the end of season 7, because fuck season 8.  
> Not for Cersei fans, be warned.  
> And this will be basically darker and angstier than my previous work, though I'm sure that by the time I've worked through all the angst there will be a fluff fest waiting because I can't help myself and love happy endings.
> 
> Updated Warnings in the end notes, please check them before reading.
> 
> OMG, I received a banner from the amazing Ro_Nordmann, thanks so much!

He might have been allowed to leave the map room but Jaime doesn't fool himself that his sister is letting him go. He's seen it on her face, the cold fury that he would defy her and dared to leave her; she had signed his death sentence then and there, even if it hasn't been carried out yet. 

It might have not been such a harsh sentence had she not seen the way he and Brienne had looked at each other during the summit, the way they had communicated without words, and how later Brienne had grabbed him unhesitatingly to halt his progress, the way her words had been firm, certain of their reception as if she knew Jaime would listen to her then, would always listen to her.

Cersei has never dealt well with competition, and Jaime has always believed it was love what made her jealous. Now he knows it's not; Cersei is no better than a two year old Joffrey, who had preferred to break his toys than to share them, full of entitlement and possessiveness.

Jaime has finally seen it clearly. Now that he's defied her, now that he's leaving and he's not hers anymore he'll be discarded like an old toy, but only after being thoroughly broken so nobody else would want him. It was stupid of him to not recognise where that particular strain of cruelty and sadism in Joffrey had come from. Jaime himself had never delighted in someone's pain the same way Cersei had, and if he doubted it, he only needed to look at what remained of Ellaria Sand and her daughter down in the Black Cells. 

Jaime knows he should have left a long time ago, should have stopped Cersei when she blew up the Sept and took the crown for herself, but had still been too in love with her, had still believed in her when she promised to take their love to the light, to let him be a father and not just a sire. He had let that love blind him once again, even when part of himself tried to fight against it.

He really is the stupidest Lannister; her promises to him have always been as empty as her promises to everyone else, only fulfilled if it suits her. He'll pay for his stupidity with his life.

His chances of outrunning the Mountain or the rest of Cersei guards are slim to none, same as winning a fight against them one-handed; there's no point. Instead, he finds Bronn and charges him with one last request. It will be Tyrion paying this debt, but Jaime's past caring now. Let Tyrion be the last living Lannister and sire as many bastards as he can with all the whores in the kingdoms, or let their family die with him, they deserve it.

He gets on his horse and rides out of King's Landing, due North, no sense in making his sweet sister suspect anything. 

His main regret, when he hears the horses of his pursues gaining on him, is that Brienne will never know how much meeting her had changed him for the better, will never know that in the end, he tried to keep a promise and become a better man.

...


	2. The Lone Rider

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooops, I just realized I put Sam in two places at the same time, so I've done some small edits here :)

 

[](https://i.imgur.com/55YWCTz.jpg)

Brienne has already given up hope when the rider arrives.

It's been over a fortnight since the Dragonpit summit and the promise from Queen Cersei to give her aid to the North in the fight for the living. Brienne had not believed it when she had denied them in the first instance, was she insane? It was everyone's lives in the line, hers included, and Brienne had leaned on Jaime to convince her, using whatever influence their years of friendship granted her. She remembers her anger then, how she had pulled on his arm to make him look at her and listen, really listen to her. She had tried to catch his eye previously during the summit, surprised to find him avoiding her gaze until she had seen the Queen looking at them with narrowed eyes.

Jaime had convinced the Queen in the end, even after refusing Brienne, or his brother had done.

Except no Lannister troops have come, no ravens and no news have arrived from King's Landing.

It's the unspoken agreement that they won't, that _the Lannisters lied_.

It's a hard pill to swallow for Brienne reconciling the man of her memories, the one who saved her over and over, the one who gave her a priceless sword and sent her off to save Sansa Stark, with the harsh and cold man from the Dragonpit. She had hoped the real one was the one she remembers, but it appears she was wrong. If they survive this fight and march South, she will have to fight him, much as she won't want to.

They are in yet another war council discussing strategies when they are interrupted by a guard.

"A rider just arrived, alone, asking for Lord Tyrion," the guard announces.

"Bring him in," Tyrion says, his brow furrowed in confusion.

The man that comes into the room looks familiar, and it takes Brienne a moment to place him as Bronn, the sellsword friend of both Tyrion and Podrick. Bronn looks around before saying anything, searching for a face, and then goes straight to Tyrion. "So your cunt brother didn't make it," he says, and the words hit Brienne like a fist to the gut. No. It can't mean what she thinks. "I hate your fooking family."

He hands a letter to Tyrion, who picks it warily. "What do you mean my brother didn't make it?" Every eye in the room is fixed in them, all of them curious. Everyone in this room has reasons to hate Jaime, or at least they believe they have, and the way Daenerys is smiling softly at the idea of Jaime being dead is rubbing Brienne the wrong way.

"Your fooking sister sent the Mountain after him," Bronn explains, and the shock and pain on Tyrion's eyes mirror the feeling writhing in Brienne's chest. "He tried to get the army to come north, he gave me that for you in case he didn't make it." He points with his chin to the letter, and Tyrion opens it with less than steady hands.

" _Tyrion, I can't take the army north, she's sent her monster to kill me. You have to stop her, I'm sorry I didn't do it myself. Greyjoy has gone to Essos to hire the Golden Company. Don't let your Queen use the dragons in King's Landing, there's still wildfire everywhere under the city._ " Tyrion reads out loud his voice quivering, his eyes shining with unshed tears. He looks up straight at her. " _Tell Brienne I'm sorry. I tried._ "

All eyes turn to her momentarily, and she has to bite the inside of her cheek not to react under their scrutiny and judgement, especially in Daenerys's eyes. "Is this another trick by your family, Tyrion? I thought you had convinced them to help, and now this?" She looks suspicious, her expression colder than Brienne has seen it before. How she doesn't react to the grief so clearly painted on Tyrion's face, Brienne doesn't know, even Sansa who has more reasons than any to hate the Lannisters is looking at him with sympathy and concern.

"My sister has betrayed everyone, even Jaime," he replies, choked, "but he's trying--"

"Your brother, the Kingslayer, was an Oathbreaker who murdered the King he was sworn to protect," Daenerys interrupts him, and Brienne clenches her fist and forces herself to take a deep breath. She can't lose it here, she needs to be excused and go to her rooms where she can let go. "Why wouldn't he be lying now?"

"Your Grace, Jaime wouldn't--" Tyrion tries again, but it's clear that Daenerys is not willing to listen, not where Jaime Lannister is concerned.

"I already sacrificed one of my children for nothing, and now they expect me not to use my other children against them? Just on the word of a man without honour?"

Brienne closes her eyes and swallows her tears, her right hand clenched around the pommel of Oathkeeper, her blood boiling with pain and rage. "Your Grace," she hears herself saying, her voice strange to her own ears. "You don't know me, but I knew Ser Jaime." She has to steel herself for her knees not to buckle under so many stares, but she can do this. It's the last thing she can do for him. "I was his captor once, taking him to King's Landing from Riverrun to exchange for Lady Sansa. When we were captured together, he saved both my life and my honour from our captors and lost his hand for it. He took me back to King's Landing with him, he armed and armoured me and sent me to find Lady Sansa and keep her safe, even after she had been accused of killing the King. He had honour, and he's telling the truth about the wildfire."

Varys's eyes are assessing when they look at her. "And how do you know all this?" Daenerys asks, her voice and demeanour still sceptic, but there is a glimmer of doubt in her eyes now.

"Because Ser Jaime told me, the wildfire was laid there by your father during the rebellion," she says with a silent apology to Jaime for telling his secret. "When he ordered the city to be burned with everyone inside, Ser Jaime killed him."

" _I don't believe it_ ," Daenerys says, and Brienne is done with this, she's done what she can.

"It's the truth, Your Grace, believe it or don't." She turns to Lady Sansa. Her voice breaking at the sympathy in her eyes. "If I may be excused, my lady?"

"Of course, get some rest Lady Brienne, I'll see you in the morning."

She heads to the door, and right before closing it, she hears Varys's voice. "Lady Brienne tells the truth, at least regarding the wildfire."

Brienne doesn't care, not right now, not when her heart feels like it's about to shred itself inside her chest. She has never acknowledged her feelings, not even to herself. What would be the point to admit to being in love with a man who could never love her back? A man who loved someone else so deeply he had done terrible things for her? Brienne has always possessed enough self-preservation to skitter around those feelings, not letting them form fully in her conscious mind even when they were obvious enough for people to see.

No, Brienne has never put a name to their relationship beyond friendship, never looked deeper into her feelings beyond respect and fondness. It was safer this way.

Her grief is not the one she'd feel for a friend, though. The closest she has felt was when Renly died, and that was but a drop compared to the ocean of tears she's drowning in now.

She thinks about the last time they spoke, not her imprecation during the summit but before, when they met in Riverrun and he had refused to take back Oathkeeper, gifting it to her. She remembers his soft look and smile, and how for a brief moment, she had believed he cared about her.

She will never know now.

That's the Jaime she dreams about that night, the one she hopes will always be in her dreams.

...

Brienne goes straight to Lady Sansa's rooms when she gets up in the morning, she hasn't slept much and her eyes looked red and swollen in the mirror when she looked at herself, but she doesn't care. It's not as if she hadn't been obvious enough the previous day.

It's clear she's not the only person who hasn't slept well the moment they arrive in the Main Hall to break their fast, Tyrion's eyes are bloodshot and dulled with grief and more than likely wine, his mouth turned down at the corners. Next to him, Bronn looks the worse for drink as well, and Brienne wonders whether the man actually cared for Jaime as a friend, not a walking coin purse. The most surprising, though, it's Daenerys. She looks like she hasn't slept properly either, her eyes red-rimmed and her face pale. She's clutching Missandei's hand tightly in hers, and her eyes dart to Brienne only to skitter away quickly more than once.

"After you left," Sansa says, noticing how Brienne's eyes move around, "Varys shared some stories about Daenerys's father." Brienne knows some of the stories from Jaime and some of them from her own father. King or not, Aerys had been a monster, but she can't imagine it had been easy for his daughter to accept that he might have deserved the end he got. That didn't absolve Jaime of his other crimes, especially the ones against the Starks, but those he had tried to redeem himself with Brienne's help. "I still don't know how you could love a man like him," Sansa says, and Brienne feels her heart lurching in her chest. She opens her mouth to deny it and closes it again. What would be the point? She had been painfully obvious the day before. "But it looks like he wasn't always a villain."

"He was a complicated man," Brienne confirms, hearing the past tense leave her mouth for the first time sends a pang through her. She'll get used to it, she has the rest of her life for it.

"So it seems."

They finish the food and head back to the council room. "Ser Bronn," Daenerys says the moment the door is closed. "Are you staying here to fight for the living in Ser Jaime's stead?" the use of his name instead of the loathed title of Kingslayer surprises all of them, the previous day's revelations weighing heavily on it.

" _Fuck no_ , I've heard dead men are coming to kill everyone," Bronn says with his usual lack of any respect. "I'm going to Essos, I'll come back to collect on all the debts the Lannister owe me if you lot survive."

Daenerys nods like she wasn't expecting any other answer. "Would you do a service for me in Essos? I will pay you in whichever coin you prefer."

"You'll give me a castle and a wife?" Bronn asks, sceptic. "Because that's what this lot promised me."

The revulsion Brienne feels for him is mirrored on Daenerys's face for an instant, before she smooths it under a mask of regal indifference. "If you complete it satisfactorily and we survive, you can take your pick of any empty castle in the Kingdom. The wife you'll have to find yourself, I don't own people to gift to anyone."

Bronn shrugs. "I have nothing better to do and it's in Essos."

The desire to call for her dragon and set the man on fire radiates off Daenerys in waves, and yet her voice sounds calm and composed when she speaks next. "You will go to Mereen and speak to Daarius Naharis, the captain of the Second Sons, and give him some instructions from me. One of my Unsullied and one of my Bloodriders will go with you and vouch for you. The Second Sons are to infiltrate the Golden Company and flip it in our favour or destroy it from the inside, whichever is easier." Tyrion walks up to Bronn and hands him two sealed letters. "You will give those letters to Daarius, they contain instructions regarding the governing of Mereen and how we'll meet in King's Landing once the North has been secured."

Bronn looks impressed. "You're smart, I'll do it. I might yet get my castle, I've heard Highgarden is empty." He walks to the door with the letters in his hand and before leaving he turns to Tyrion. "Don't die until you kill your cunt sister." There's a hint of emotion in his face, rage, and Brienne knows that he had actually cared for Jaime in his own way.

Silence descends once he's gone, the air still tense until Bran calls everyone's attention to him. "The Army of the Dead has reached Last Hearth, they will be upon us within the sennight."

Bronn is forgotten then, the preparation for the imminent threat more important than anything else.

They have a war to fight now, everything else will come later.

…

The sight of Tarth eases something inside of Brienne she didn't know had been coiled tight for a long time, and she has to lean forward over the side of the ship, the cool breeze and the spray hitting her face. Her island is still as beautiful as her memories made it be, the luscious greens of its mountains and the beautiful blue of its waters unparalleled with anything she has seen during her travels.

Winter has not arrived here, not this far south where it's always spring, and she's glad of it. Brienne has had enough winter and snow to last her several lifetimes.

"My Lady, please come back down," Pod asks her for the third time, still nervous in the ship and around Brienne, who has barely been able to stand for a sennight.

Brienne leans back and goes to follow him if only to keep him from fretting and fussing over her. She's not an invalid, even if she feels like one. She's a Knight in everything but title and has fought and survived a horde of the living dead. So has Pod, for that matter, but he still insists in behaving as if he were the green squire who followed her from King's Landing so many years ago.

She realizes she's exhausted again the moment she's back in her cabin, and she goes back to her cot. They will probably arrive in Tarth in a couple of hours, and she still doesn't know what to tell her father.

She doesn't know what to tell anyone.

The Brienne that left her island so many years ago, her head full of chivalry and heroic deeds, was a naive summer child, and very little of her remains in the woman who returns. It's not just the physical changes, though there are plenty of those, but also the horrors she's seen during the past few years.

She survived the battle against the dead, but not unscathed. Her hand moves reflexively to her cheek where one wight bit a chunk of it off during the battle, marring her features and making her even uglier. As if she hadn't been called the Ugliest Maid in Westeros before. That's not the wound that's causing her problems, though, what does she care about her appearance? She had resigned herself to never marrying, or if she did, it would be her island what her husband desired, not her. Now she doesn't think even the beauty of her island can make up for her ugliness, and she prefers it this way.

She can't imagine loving any man the way she loves Jaime, and can't see herself being happy with just tolerating her husband. If her father agrees, she will name Pod her heir. He's more than proven himself to her.

She vaguely remembers the battle during her waking hours, just impressions of fire and blood and death coming to her non-stop, her sword hand moving, Pod by her side until everything stopped. She relives it as if she was back there every night, though, can smell the putrefaction of the corpses and the piss and shit released by their dying men, all on top of the overwhelming smell of blood and charred meat everywhere. She can still feel the hands that dragged her down at some point, a dozen of them with bones protruding out of fleshless fingers, poking her everywhere while she struggled to regain her feet. She had been stabbed in the thigh and the chest, the wound that had almost taken her life as she just had kept on fighting the moment she was freed of the wights until she collapsed, out of strength and bloodless. It had been luck Arya had killed the Night King at that time, and that Pod had dragged her to Samwell Tarly immediately, ignoring his own wounds.

The recovery from those wounds had been the worst part, abed for almost moon while Daenerys and Jon's army marched south. Brienne had wanted to be there when they took King's Landing, had wanted to look at Cersei in the face when they finally killed her and ask her how she could kill a man that had done nothing but love her even when he hated himself for it.

She had feared that Daenerys would set King's Landing on fire in spite of everything, but Lady Sansa had set her fears to rest.

"Cersei Lannister is dead," Lady Sansa had said sitting next to her in her solar where Winterfell's maester, who had taken over her care when Sam had marched south with Jon, had allowed Brienne to go for an hour as long as she promised to be sitting down the entire time. Brienne had been sick and tired of bed by then and had agreed to it. "The Golden company was flipped by the Second Sons and they opened the gates for Daenerys and Jon's army to enter the city. When she found out she had lost, Cersei poisoned herself sitting on the Iron Throne rather than surrender it." Brienne hadn't felt the satisfaction she had hoped for knowing of Cersei's death. It didn't make Jaime alive again, and she had robbed everyone the chance to serve her the justice she deserved. "I also have been called to the capital, though I don't know yet the reason. Might be that my brother is ready to marry his Queen."

Brienne had tried to straighten on her chair. "When are we departing, my lady?"

That was when she had realized something was wrong, Lady Sansa had taken her hand so gently, as if Brienne was fragile. It was the first time she had felt fragile. "You still need to recuperate, Lady Brienne," Sansa had said, so softly, so carefully. "You saved my life many times over, and you saved us all. Now it's time for you to rest and heal. I'm departing for King's Landing in the morning, my sister is coming with me and she will be able to guard me if any danger should cross our path." Brienne had closed her eyes then, exhausted, knowing what was coming. Who needed a broken woman when they had the girl who had slain the Night King by their side? "I release you from your oath, Lady Brienne. You will always have a place in my house and at my hearth, but I think it's time for you to go home. Winter in the North is not for convalescence, Tarth will suit you better."

Brienne had kept her eyes closed to prevent the tears gathering in them from escaping. " _I understand_."

"This is not a dismissal, Lady Brienne," Sansa had insisted, earnest. "Once you're back on your feet, come to Winterfell and swear yourself to me again if so you choose, I will always be grateful to have you by my side. But you are the heiress of Tarth, and you need to recuperate. _And to mourn_."

"Thank you, my lady," she had said, choked, and they had spent that last evening together in the solar, not doing anything, until the maester had forced Brienne to go back to bed.

Sansa had departed the following day, and Brienne had begun the arrangements to sail to Tarth from White Harbour as soon as the maester deemed her hale enough to ride.

And now she's here, back home, and she can already feel how it will soothe her wounded spirit as much as it will do good to her wounded body. She feels it even more once they disembark, gingerly descending the ship into the harbour and sees her father there, waiting for her.

She rushes as fast as she can and practically falls into his open arms, feeling some measure of peace and contentment for the first time since the day Bronn arrived in Winterfell.

"Welcome home, my child."

...

They find the man in the Black Cells, the only living thing in the midst of the horror they have encountered down there.

The man's dirty and emaciated, his hair and beard matted and shot with grey, some filthy rags barely covering his scarred body and, where his right hand should have been, nothing but a stump. For a moment the men think he's dead as well, then he opens his eyes and stares at them with rage and fire shinning in their green depths.

"Get the Hand," one of the soldiers say, "he'll want to see this."

...


	3. In The Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They catch up to him outside of King’s Landing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so this is darker than I thought it would be. Please heed the new warning. I'm a sucker for happy endings, but it's going to take some time to get there.

They catch up to him outside of King’s Landing. 

Cersei has sent her own personal guard after him, five of her Queensguard including the Mountain. It’s somewhat overkill to kill a one handed ageing lion; Jaime hasn’t been able to best a skilled swordsman one on one since he lost his hand, there is no way he can beat five of Cersei’s best. 

He dismounts his horse anyway and unsheathes Widow’s Wail ready to fight to the death; if he can make them kill him here so much the better for him, he doesn’t want to know what torments his sweet sister will visit on the person whose betrayal is the most personal to her.

She must have warned them against harming him, though, because they all attack him with the intent of disarming and reducing him, not hurting him. Not even the Mountain, who doesn’t bother unsheathing his sword, just punches Jaime with one ham-sized fist in the chest, knocking the air out him and then punches him in the head when he doubles over, rendering him unconscious.

He opens his eyes again inside the Black Cells, and he can’t even say he’s surprised to find himself there. At least they haven’t chained him to the wall, they have just dropped his limp body on the floor and closed the door. He sits up gingerly, feeling around his head where that monster hit him. His head feels like it’s about to explode, lights pulsating in front of his opened eyes, starbursts lighting up when he closes them. Slowly, Jaime scoots back until his back is pressed against the wall, refusing to even consider what could it be what he just touched on the floor or who was in this particular cell before. 

He dozes like that, sitting up against the wall, and thinks about how his brother is now Hand of the Dragon Queen. Jaime hopes he receives his message, that Bronn hasn’t decided to betray him this time. He really hopes his brother can convince his queen not to burn the city, those Dragons have the potential to really destroy it and Jaime might not care anymore if they burn his sister--not true, he cares much as he shouldn’t, he might have left her and understands she can't live, for the good of the realm, but Jaime doesn’t want Cersei to die in such an awful way--the smallfolk shouldn’t pay for their sins.

He thinks about Olenna Tyrell and how right she had been when she told him his sister was going to be the death of him. She was wrong as well, he has finally managed to disentangle himself from her, and the only thing he’s needed to take the final step away from Cersei is a threat to everyone’s survival which she’ll rather ignore, and Brienne of Tarth swearing at him. Pity it’s too late for it to do him any good. 

He thinks about Brienne and can’t help the smile on his face. 

Oh, but she had been pissed at him when she’d grabbed his arm and forced him to stop. Jaime had been angry as well, though in his case it was more out of fear. He was terrified by what he had just seen, his heart still hammering in his chest at the idea of a thousand hundred of those things advancing on them from the North. He had wanted to shake Cersei and make her see sense and wanted to shake that idiot pup Snow for declaring for the Dragon Queen at the worst possible time. That whole thing in the Dragonpit had been a pantomime of the worst order, but he had loved seeing Brienne again, angry and imposing as she was, had loved seeing her so self-possessed, so settled in her own skin. He had seen it briefly in Riverrun, and had thought it then; _she was a real Knight now, the North became her._

He falls asleep like that, thinking of Brienne, and even dreams of her. He dreams of their time in the Riverlands, when they were captor and prisoner and he managed to take her sword from her. He dreams of their sword fight, how it had made his blood sing, how he had enjoyed the thrust and parry, the rhythm of their swords clashing, Brienne’s strength and technique almost equal to his own. He dreams of them not being interrupted, just fighting and fighting and fighting until Brienne disarms him and forces him to yield, forces him to his knees and grabs a handful of his hair, pulling at it at the same time she pushes him against her body and Jaime moans, arousal blazing through him 

He wakes up then and before he opens his eyes, Jaime knows he isn’t alone. 

“Are you dreaming about me, sweet brother?” Cersei says, voice sickly sweet hiding the poison she’s going to kill him with.

Jaime opens his eyes and there she is, standing in the middle of the cell with her monster at her back. He can see her then, regal and beautiful and so stern, standing there in Lannister crimson with the crown on her head, the only thing she's ever loved. She’s brought a torch with her, no sense in doing anything to him if she can’t see his face, he guesses.

“No,” he admits with a smirk. 

She narrows her eyes at him, nodding to the front of his breeches where his arousal is obvious. “Who were you thinking about then? Surely not that ugly huge woman you were looking at before? Is that the kind of monster you want now you can't have me?” He lets his smirk grow even more, not replying. Whatever games she’s going to play with him Jaime is going to try and keep his mouth closed for as long as he can. Cersei gives him a disgusted look and turns around, signalling to the Mountain who approaches Jaime and grabs his left hand, he pulls it up until it’s manacled to the wall, forcing him to stand and pulling uncomfortably on his shoulder. He takes the golden hand next, practically ripping the buckles off, and leaves. “Sweet dreams, brother,” she says from the door before it closes, plunging him into darkness again.

She thinks she’s going to win this game, he has no doubt of it, because she’s always won against him. Jaime has always set himself to lose at whatever silly entertainment they played together just to please her, even when they were children. Cersei believes he doesn’t know how to succeed against her, but it doesn’t matter, as long as he keeps his mouth shut about Bronn and his message for Tyrion, about Brienne and everything that has always been between them, unspoken and unacknowledged, she can do whatever she wants to him. 

He’ll take it with a smirk or with a scream, but _he’ll take it_.

This time, he’ll win.

…

Cersei comes back. 

Jaime doesn't know how much time has passed; it's impossible to tell inside the Black Cells, one of the reasons it's a harsh punishment to be confined to them, but he's past the point of hunger and thirst, his entire left side in agony while his arm has gone completely numb.

She comes in with her pet monster and it releases his arm from the manacle, letting him fall to the ground. He grits his teeth at the pain, the suddenness of the movement jarring his shoulder, his knees hitting the ground and radiating agony to his entire body.

"Feed him," she says to someone at her back. 

Jaime is not allowed the dignity of feeding himself, instead, harsh hands force his mouth open and uncaring fingers put morsels of disgusting food in it, filling it with foul tasting water after. He chokes and closes his eyes when a hand surrounds his throat and forces him to swallow, going away in his head. He thinks of his tent in Riverrun, Brienne handing him back Oathkeeper and her surprised face when he'd refused to take it back. As if he could take back all she was and all she had done for him, all he had become for knowing her. She had accomplished the impossible, to make him feel honourable again, if only in her presence. A sword is a small price to pay for it.

Distantly he feels things happening outside his mind, hands on his body moving him around like a puppet, pressing bruises against his flesh, and hot breath on his face he would have given anything before to feel and now has to flee from to the deepest recesses of his mind. He knows the wet heat enveloping him, and it almost drags him back to the conscious world, but he clings to Brienne's blue eyes in his mind until it's over, until he's left on the floor discarded again. 

It establishes a pattern, Jaime will be left alone for days until he's faint with hunger and thirst, too weak to stand if he's left on the floor or too hurt to do anything but moan if he's manacled to the wall. He's cleaned sometimes, harsh passes of cloth over his weakened body, rough and humiliating, which always remind him of other hands cleaning the filth and shit from his body. He knows what that means, knows how fastidious his sister is about cleanliness, and he takes himself back to a bath in Harrenhal, to a strong yet gentle woman cradling him in her arms, cleaning him with all the gentleness she has always been denied by men.

It amuses him to think he used to flee to memories of his sister when his reality became too harsh to endure during Aerys's reign, and now he's fleeing to another woman's memories to escape his sister. He's come full circle, from one Mad King to a Mad Queen.

Cersei's mad, he can see it clearly now in her eyes. He can't believe he wasn't able to see it before.

Sometimes he laughs when he sees her, wondering at how blind he has been to love this woman for so long when she is no better than the king he killed. Sometimes he wonders whether he's going mad too.

Cersei talks to him sometimes, trying to get a reaction from him beyond the ones his body provide without leave from his conscious mind. "Euron's back with the Golden Company," she says, staring at him in from the door while Qyburn force feeds him something that makes him want to retch but will keep him alive for a while longer. "The captain reminds me of you when you were a man and not a cripple. It's good to be surrounded by real men again."

He wonders whether she's fucking some of those real men now and discovers he doesn't care about the answer. Let Euron worry about it if he wants.

"Do you think everyone is dead now?" she whispers into his ear another day. "All of them decomposing and crawling like that thing we saw? It wouldn't make that ridiculous woman any uglier, I don't think. Would you still want her like that? The cripple and the corpse, what a good pair you'd make."

He tries not to think about what might be happening in Winterfell, and yet he can't help but wonder whether Bronn delivered his message. Whether they paid any heed to it of if the Dragon Queen will burn them all. He remembers her burning his men and wonders whether he did the right thing sending that message.

"I think about passing yet another of your bastards as a King," she moans another time. He hears it from the distance, where he's staring at the sapphire waters surrounding Tarth, the most beautiful island he's ever seen. He hates himself for the way his body reacts to her, too many years of being hers showing in how she can still arouse him, make him spill inside of her even, but there's nothing he can do about it. "Euron will be his father, and you'll do the only thing you've ever been good at, putting it inside of me. It's good you were never their real father, you'd have made them weak like you."

She never tells him anything of import, only lies he has always been able to read clearly in her. 

"Winterfell has fallen," she says one day, laughing. "Razed by one of those Dragons you so feared."

"They beat the dead and now they're coming here," she says another day, "I'll bring your monstrous woman down here when I beat their army and let her look at you now, crippled and broken. Will she still love you now? She did when you brought her ugliness to our court, to my son's wedding."

He never says anything, never responds to her taunts. He will scream or moan in response to something done to him, but he won't talk. Most of the time he's not even there, he's visited the Riverlands several times, from Riverrun to Harrenhal, has fought against Brienne countless times and they've shared countless baths and they've been in his tent, alone together, countless times. And never has he thought of soiling her with his touch except when he's dreaming. 

And then one day the visits stop. The feedings stop. Everything stops. 

This is it, he thinks relieved, she's bored with me and I can finally die.

He closes his eyes with a smile on his face.

…

Jaime wants to cry when he hears the door to the cell opening. 

_No_ , he wants to scream. _I'm not dead yet. Please no_.

He doesn't hear her voice, though, doesn't feel her hands or Qyburn's on him. He opens his eyes and sees some men staring at him from the door, their faces shocked and horrified. Jaime glares at them with all the hatred he can muster, wondering what new game has his sister devised. 

"Get the Hand," one of them says, "he'll want to see this."

He doesn't know what he's expecting to happen, but it certainly isn't to see Tyrion waddling inside his cell. He would laugh at the way his brother stops when he sees him, his eyes impossibly big on his face, and how he barks at the soldiers. "Get him down, now. You, go get Samwell, bring him here immediately." Then he's running towards him as fast as his short legs allow him, and he's there to catch him when he's released from the manacle, his body falling on top of him. Jaime would laugh at how weak he is for his brother to hold him, except he can't, he can do nothing but collapse in his brother's strong arms. 

He opens his mouth to call his brother but he can't remember the last time he spoke, and no sound comes out, there's no moisture in his mouth, can't remember the last time he drank something.

"Jaime," Tyrion says, his voice strangled with emotion. "Jaime, it's over. _She's dead_."

He has enough in him for tears, though. 

What he doesn't know is whether they are from relief or grief.

...


	4. In The Sunlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime wakes up and there is light streaming through a window, bright enough to hurt his eyes.

Jaime wakes up and there is light streaming through a window, bright enough to hurt his eyes. He moans weakly, slamming his eyes shut, and then registers the fact that he's neither hanging from the manacle nor laying on the hard and cold stone. He's on a comfortable mattress, with a heavy blanket covering his body and nothing hurts.

It's this last fact, more than anything else, what convinces him he didn't dream Tyrion. He's here, in the sunlight, not somewhere deep inside his head, and he can feel his body, can feel he's badly hurt but something is keeping the worst of the pain at bay. Milk of the poppy more than likely.

He tries to open his eyes again, just a slit, and sees he's in his old rooms in the Red Keep. So it's still standing. Good to know.

He remembers Tyrion telling him Cersei's dead and he feels a deep sense of relief. There's grief in there as well but is distant and muted, it belongs to someone Jaime realizes died a long time ago. He'll mourn for his sweet sister, the little girl running around Casterly Rock with him, holding his hand as the both of them jumped from the cliffs into the waters below, laughing as their mother ran after them. He'll mourn the Cersei who was innocent and had not fallen for their father's machinations to give her a crown. He won't cry for the one who held him and used him for however long he was in the Black Cells, he refuses to shed even one tear for that monster, but he'll always love the other one.

"Oh, you're awake," a cheery voice calls, and Jaime sees through his slitted eyes the figure of a fat man wearing all black like he was a Night Watchman. "We found you in the Black Cells five days ago and we weren't sure if you would survive at the time. I'm glad to see you conscious, your brother has barely left your side at all, he just had to leave right now to attend to the Queen, but I'll send him a message so he can come back as soon as possible. How are you feeling?"

Jaime just stares at him, opening his eyes wider now he's used to the light but doesn't say anything. He doesn't know who this man is, doesn't know whether he's still a prisoner but to a different Queen now, doesn't know why they're nursing him back to health. His brother was Hand to the Dragon Queen whose father Jaime famously killed, he can't think she has any merciful feelings for him.

The man's staring at him like he expects some kind of answer, but Jaime has nothing to say to him. He knows he was able to form words before, but his mouth is not moving now even if the words are in his head.

The man tilts his head to the side, his expression morphing from bland curiosity to concern and extends his hand to touch Jaime's face. He flinches, backing away from the hand, and the man stops abruptly, a terrible sympathy on his face. "I'm so sorry, Ser Jaime, but I need to check your temperature, you still have a fever."

Jaime nods, wary, and forces himself to stand still as the man's hand touches his forehead gently. The man's hand is warm and soft, not calloused like someone who has been using swords his entire life; he could be a Maester if he's the one healing Jaime, though his speech is clearly from a highborn family and his attire from the Night Watch. Jaime narrows his eyes at him and points with his chin briefly.

"Oh, of course, of course, I'm Samwell Tarly, Ser Jaime, though most people call me just Sam. I'm the closest we have to a Maester right now," he explains, and Jaime starts at the name. _Tarly_. He frowns sharply at him, and the man's face falls, his voice wobbly when he speaks next. " _I know_ , your brother told me about the battle, and the Queen apologized for it. I can't forgive the Queen for their deaths, though she's changed since then, in some part thanks to you and the message you sent."

Sam has turned around and is busying himself with something near the hearth, and Jaime sighs in relief at hearing that his message reached the Queen and she didn't use her dragons. When he turns back he has a bowl of something in his hand and he approaches Jaime. He tries to scramble back in a panic, his stomach turning violently at the sight of what has to be food. Sam stops at his reaction, the wheels visibly turning in his head, his intelligent eyes cataloguing everything he sees and reaching the right conclusions.

He deposits the bowl on a nearby table and Jaime relaxes immediately.

"I won't presume to know what you endured in the Black Cells, Ser Jaime," Sam says oh so gently, showing him his empty hands. "But you need to eat to recover. And yes, you need to recover, you can't die now after all you've gone through." Jaime frowns, this man is too perceptive by half. "I'm going to try to help you sit up, and if that goes well, I'll hand you the food and you can try to feed yourself. _But you need to eat_."

It's the best offer he's going to get, though the idea of ingesting any food makes him feel queasy. He nods anyway, and Sam approaches him and puts his hands around his shoulders, moving him slowly up. The feeling of his body being moved without his own input almost sends him back into his mind, the impulse to retreat into his memories too compelling, but Sam is talking to him, his voice an anchor. "Your message to your brother was unexpected," Sam says as he manoeuvres him upright, "we had all assumed Queen Cersei had gone back on her word but we didn't imagine the extent of the treachery. It was hard to convince Queen Daenerys of the truth of your words, but once that was done, she asked Bronn to get her own sellswords to infiltrate the Golden Company and win them to our cause."

Jaime feels dizzy once he's sitting up on the bed with the wall supporting his weight. Sam passes him a spoon and he tries to grip it with his left hand, his fingers barely responding to him. Sam frowns. "The Golden Company opened the doors of the city to our army and the city was taken with minimal bloodshed. The Lannister army surrendered once they realised they would need to fight the Golden Company and our army. Ser Jaime, try to lift it, please."

He does and is shocked to realize he barely has the strength to lift his own hand, his shoulder aching at the movement. "Do you want me to help you?" Sam asks and he shakes his head sharply. "Fine, you can try yourself."

He brings the bowl and holds it in front of him, keeping it steady. Jaime lifts his hand with an effort that was previously reserved for the heaviest of shields and dips it in the bowl of broth. He takes it to his mouth and eats it, swallowing around a clenching throat. It's just a thin meat broth, bland and warm, and it feels like he's eating the rankest of stews. "The Lannister army has been detained and will be pardoned once Casterly Rock's heir pledges himself to the Queen. That's you, Ser Jaime, and you'll be pardoned as well in consideration of everything that has come to light." He takes a few more spoonfuls, ignoring the words for now, each weighing more than the last and tasting fouler, until he feels he will retch and undo all the effort. Jaime lets the spoon drop on the bowl and Sam takes it without another word. He presses a glass of water into his hand but doesn't remove his, helping him hold it, and Jaime takes a few sips to clean the taste of food from his mouth. At least the water tastes like water, and Sam wordlessly takes it back once Jaime lets his head fall back.

He's wiped out after this, and before he knows it, Jaime closes his eyes and is asleep again.

…

The next time Jaime awakes Tyrion is by his side, his small hands clasping Jaime's left. He's been startled out of sleep by a sudden noise, and he pulls his hand with as much strength as he can muster.

"Jaime?" His brother asks, and Jaime opens his eyes and stares at him. Tyrion looks exhausted, deep bruises under his eyes betraying the fact that he's probably not slept in the past days. He clenches his hands into fists the moment Jaime removes his and leans forward. "Sam told me you awoke yesterday, I'm sorry I wasn't here."

Jaime manages a tiny shrug, and then arches an eyebrow at his brother, looking him up and down pointedly. He looks awful, and Jaime wants to know why, it can't have been just because he's been here.

Tyrion frowns. "What? What's wrong?"

Jaime mimics his expression, furrowing his brow and points with his chin at him, arching his eyebrow again.

Tyrion's frown deepens. "Talk to me, Jaime. What's wrong?"

Jaime shakes his head, his heart speeding in his chest. The door to the room opens and Sam comes in, one quick assessing look and he's by their side. "Ser Jaime, are you in any pain?"

He gives one quick shake of his head; they've fed him more milk of the poppy, he can tell by the lassitude in his limbs and the distant ache which should be a tearing pain. He frowns at Tyrion and then looks pointedly at Sam, who just nods as if he has said something out loud. "I tried to get him to rest, Ser Jaime, but he can be very stubborn, as I'm sure you already know."

Tyrion looks between the two of them, realization dawning. "He didn't speak to you yesterday."

"I don't think he can," Sam says with a shrug like it's nothing remarkable, and Jaime feels an unpleasant lurch in his gut. He can speak, he's just choosing not to. Right? He opens his mouth to say but his heart starts pounding against his chest and he panics, opening and closing his mouth to gulp in air. Sam steps in, blocking Tyrion's sight, and puts his hand Jaime's brow. Where the day before the contact made him flinch, today Jaime accepts it gratefully, letting it ground him. "Breathe, Ser Jaime." He does, letting his heart slow down, Sam's hands as gentle as they were the previous day.

"Did our sister--?" Tyrion begins, he trails off before fully forming the question, but Sam answers anyway.

"No, there's nothing physically wrong with him except for the starvation and the atrophy to his muscles. Once he starts eating regularly and builds his strength back up, he should be alright. He should be able to talk, but I think he can't."

Jaime shakes his head with a scowl. He can, he can talk if he wants. He's always had problems shutting up, even when it would have been a good idea.

"Then talk, Ser Jaime, we're listening." Jaime glares at him and Sam smiles. "You're definitely feeling better today. I'm going to bring you more broth now. No, you need to eat Ser Jaime." He insists on seeing Jaime's displeased face. "Lord Tyrion, could you ask Gilly to bring the broth while I help him up?" Jaime's grateful to be spared the indignity of being so helpless in front of his brother, Sam's gentle manner better for the little pride he has left.

It's easier than the previous day, and Jaime is not feeling as dizzy once he's sitting up and leaning against the wall. Tyrion comes back with a sweet-faced woman who smiles at Jaime and deposits a bowl of broth on a wooden try on his lap. The smell of food still makes him feel sick, and Jaime scrunches his nose but grabs the spoon obediently, Tyrion staring at him the entire time. He shoots a glare at his brother, who shakes himself and takes his seat by the bed again.

" _I thought you were dead_ when Bronn brought us your note," Tyrion finally says, his eyes fixed on a point beyond Jaime and he takes this as his cue to start eating, letting the words wash over him as he forces spoonful after spoonful of broth down his throat. He wonders whether his sweet sister has managed to ruin the taste of food forever for him, and vows to keep trying to eat until he can do it without tasting the rank things Qyburn fed him in the back of his throat. Sam's right; he's alive, he's survived in spite of everything they did to him, and he will live. He might be broken now, but he's not beyond fixing. He can't be, he recovered after losing his sword hand, he'll recover after this. "I don't know what Cersei did down there, but I knew our sweet sister, I can imagine at points you probably wished you were. But you survived. _You won_. And she took the coward's way out and poisoned herself rather than facing her punishment." Jaime stops eating at that and lifts his brows at his brother, and it's glad to see this time Tyrion understands what he wants to know. "There won't be any punishment for you, you warned us about her treachery and tried to come to our aid, and Queen Daenerys has been told about Aerys and his reign. Varys also knew about the caches and confirmed their existence," Of course the spider knew, Jaime's not even surprised about it. "They're being removed as we speak."

Jaime drops his spoon the moment his stomach rebels against it and is glad to notice he has been able to eat a bit more than the day before, and that he doesn't feel like going back to sleep immediately afterwards though it doesn't take long for his eyes to start dropping close.

There's something that hasn't been mentioned, or more pointedly, someone. He knows his brother would have been curious about his message for Brienne, but he hasn't said anything and she is obviously not in King's Landing, she would have at least stopped by to see him if she was. He wants to ask where is she, whether she's still in Winterfell with Lady Sansa and if she's angry at Jaime for not going North or if she believes him dead as well.

Were he able to speak, Jaime would ask, but as it is now he's not even going to entertain the idea that she might not have survived the war against the dead. She's Brienne of Tarth, the strongest Knight in the whole Seven Kingdoms, and if she's not here, it's because she's in the North keeping her vows to the Starks.

It can't be any other way.

…

For the next days, things stay more or less the same.

Jaime spends more and more time awake, and there is usually someone in the room with him, Sam or Tyrion or Gilly, who he learns is Sam's wife, a wildling from beyond the Wall. He doesn't receive any other visitor, not that he's expecting any, and he's still struggling to keep his food in. Anything richer than the thin broth he's been eating will make him retch immediately, his stomach constricting violently and refusing any kind of food for the remainder of the day, not that he feels anything resembling hunger even then.

He's regaining some strength, but not as much as Sam would like. He can feed himself without much effort and even pull himself up on the bed without Sam's help. It's frustrating, but he knows he can't ask for more as long as he's still on milk of the poppy, though they are reducing his dose.

Tyrion spends less time with him now he's conscious, his duties as Hand of the Queen keep him busy, though he still tries to visit at least once a day and spend some time talking to him. Cersei had left the war go on for too long, ignoring the smallfolk and the duty to care for them as their Queen. Jaime can see clearly now how terrible a Queen she had been, and his part on keeping her in the throne. Olenna Tyrell had been right, he regrets his part in spreading the disease his sister was.

"We don't have enough grain to feed the people of King's Landing or money to buy more after paying the Golden Company with the gold our sister had, and of course the Iron Bank will not loan anything to the Crown until we pay Cersei's debt," Tyrion confides in him during one evening. He's drinking some wine while Jaime dutifully tries a different broth Gilly has brought him, one made with richer meat and more fat. It's better than the stew he tried the day before, but still not something he would be eating if he had another choice. Jaime lifts his stump and waves it to catch Tyrion's attention, then looks pointedly at him and lifts his eyebrows. "You know I can't actually understand what you want to tell me if you don't speak." Tyrion grumbles and Jaime sighs, repeating the gesture. He still hasn't felt the need to speak, something he knows is worrying his brother. "Fine, do you want me to write to Casterly Rock and see how much gold we have left? The Rock's yours now." Jaime nods, satisfied, and continues eating. "I suppose if we have gold we can buy the food from Pentos or Braavos, enough to begin feeding our people." He lifts one eyebrow and looks at the side where Gilly had left some flowers she found before, thinking they would cheer him up. This time Tyrion has no problem understanding him. "Highgarden is now Lord Bronn of the Blackwater's, and he will sell grain to the Crown, as soon as there is any grain to be sold," he says, and Jaime chokes on the next spoonful, shooting a betrayed look at his brother. _Highgarden?_ Olenna must be turning in her grave. "Don't blame _me_ , you were the one who sent him north and the man is an expert negotiating."

Gilly spends some time with him as well; she cleans him and brings him food and sometimes, when neither Sam or Tyrion are free, sits with him and tells him about her family north of the wall, about all her sisters and how she hopes they survived the Long Night. She knows probably better than anyone what went down in the cells, has been able to read it in his flinches at her touch and his involuntary reactions, in his downturned eyes when his cock got hard once when she was cleaning him and the tears he was unable to hide, in his dry heaving at the sight and smell of meat, and in his screams when he falls asleep and his sister and her pet maester come to visit him in his dreams.

"They wouldn't even let me in the building," she's saying one day, her firm hands on his shoulder. She's taken to massaging his left arm and shoulder as she saw in a book from the Citadel to help heal people whose muscles had been damaged by disuse, and though Jaime flinched from her painful touch the first time, he has to admit it has helped, his shoulder doesn't scream in pain even without the milk of the poppy anymore. "The barely let Sam in, all those old fools with their necks full of chains and heads full of knowledge. If they knew so much, why didn't they know what was coming was real or how to kill it?" Jaime rolls his eyes, amused at her irritation with the maesters of the Citadel. According to Gilly, there is no smarter man alive than her husband, nor a kinder one. Jaime agrees with her most of the time, except when Sam insists that he eats more than he wants to. "I'm going to start on your legs tomorrow, Ser Jaime," she tells him a sennight after he wakes up. "Do you think you can stand it?"

Jaime wants to smile at her, she's so gentle with him he can't be angry that she treats him as if he were fragile. He is, right now he's the easiest to shatter he will ever be, and she knows because she's also lived through shattering events. She's so strong now it gives him hope for himself. He nods at her.

He almost regrets it when she starts on his legs, the pressure of her hands and fingers in his wasted muscles as painful as any sword wound he's felt, but he grits his teeth and lets her do it, every day for about an hour, and she prattles about everything she learned in the Citadel, her constant chatter and the painful pressure enough to remind him this is Gilly touching him and not Cersei.

A sennight after she starts on his legs Sam convinces him to try to stand; he's still unable to stand solid food, but he's got much better and is trying some bread with the broth, and he has managed to eat some of the stronger ones. He can feel some of his strength returning, though he's not eager to try and walk on his own. With Sam's help, he manages to take a few steps away from his bed before almost collapsing in his arms.

"Well done, Ser Jaime," he says with a genuine smile, "you'll be out of bed in no time."

He wishes it would be so, he's sick and tired of his bed. He can't do anything but lie there on his own when everyone is busy, and at those times his mind tries to go back to the days before he tried to leave his sister. He wonders why he didn't leave her when she kept the door opened to marrying Greyjoy even after telling him she was pregnant; he had already known then she was using him then, and he'd been too much of a fool to confront her. He charged a dragon and watched his men being burned alive, and he can see now with the detachment brought by time and pain, that he had probably wished to die there with them, heroically in the battlefield. Thinking back he knows the last time he felt genuinely happy was in the Riverlands when he spoke to Brienne, and he should have stopped his sister when she blew the Sept.

There is no point regretting those things now, he has to live with the consequences of his actions.

"The Queen has heard you're out of bed now, brother," Tyrion tells him one night, "and we've just got an answer from aunt Genna about the gold. The Queen wants you in court tomorrow to officially bend the knee so she can pardon you. She has been informed you can't speak, so don't even try to use that as an excuse to get out of it."

Jaime sighs and nods and his brother smiles at him, satisfied.

…

It's the first time since he was a boy of five and ten and Aerys named him for his Kingsguard that Jaime has actually felt nervous in court.

He's aware there must have been rumours about him, about the state he was found in, and the fact that nobody has seen him in the moon since his rescue has probably only fueled more rumours. He's tried to make himself as presentable for court as possible; Gilly has trimmed his hair and beard so it looks more like a choice than a wild growth, the strands of silver in his hair shinning clean. He's been dressed in a Lannister crimson doublet and breeches and someone has found Window's Wail and given it to him to tie at his waist, though the clothes look too big on his rail-thin body now. He's also unable to walk on his own for more than a few minutes and kneeling in front of the Queen is going to be a challenge. Sam and Gilly are beside him, and so is his brother. Tyrion will be the one to speak in is stead, and the Queen has agreed to allow them to.

He hears the murmurs start the moment he enters the room; he knows what he looks like now, has looked at his reflection in the mirror before leaving his rooms, and though he's miles better than he was a moon ago, it's still a long way from the Golden Lion he had been. He's too gaunt and pale, his clothes falling on his frame like on a scarecrow, the permanent shadows under his eyes dark as bruises, and he's not wearing any kind of fake hand on his right. There are enough people here, all staring at him and whispering, to make him want to flinch and go back to his room. Instead, he straightens his spine and recalls his old persona, the one who wouldn't respond to the countless whispers of Kingslayer with anything but a haughty smirk and a cold shoulder. It feels like a too big suit now, not unlike the clothes he's wearing, but he does it anyway.

They approach the Iron Throne where Daenerys Targaryen is sitting and looking down at him, Ned Stark's bastard sitting on another throne next to her and with another crown on his head. She's not looking at him with the hate and resentment he was expecting, instead, her face shows sympathy. Jaime lets out a breath, not looking anywhere but her, and kneels in front of the throne, taking Widow's Wail from its scabbard and laying it at her feet.

"In the name of my brother, Jaime Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, we pledge our support to the true Queen of the Six Kingdoms, Daenerys Targaryen, First of her Name," Tyrion says, his voice ringing true.

"Thanks, my Lord Hand, Lord Jaime, you may stand," Daenerys says and Jaime tries to do so on his own, though he ends up holding onto his brother's shoulder. There is a ripple of laughter from the courtiers, quelled immediately with a glare by the Queen. "For the longest time I always imagined what I would do when finally faced with the man who killed my father," she starts, and Jaime feels his stomach clench. Next to him Tyrion stiffens, and he hopes he's not about to lose his head after all the effort he's taken him to get back on his feet. "Turns out I didn't know my father or anything about the kind of King he was, nor about the people who were saved by such an act. While you haven't been the most honourable of knights, Lord Jaime, it's not for killing the King who was about to massacre his city with wildfire that you should be judged, and you have already been punished for your part in your sister's reign."

He starts at those words; there is only one place they might have come from, only one person ever knew the truth about Aerys, and Jaime starts looking around because she must be here, then. He can see on one side of the throne the regal auburn head of Sansa Stark, a thin circlet of a crown also on her head, and Brienne must be next to her. She's her sworn sword, she has to be where Sansa Stark is.

She's not, though. Brienne is not easy to miss, not when she's a head taller than any other woman and so much broader, her sturdy frame clad in dark blue armour is impossible to miss, and so his her light blonde hair and those astonishing blue eyes. But next to Sansa, instead of the huge woman Jaime wants to see there a slip of a girl in Stark greys, an aura of danger around her impossible to miss.

_But not Brienne._

Jaime looks frantically around. She has to be here; if Sansa is here Brienne has to be here. She would not let her liege lady travel without her, only death would keep her from her lady's side.

 _No_. He thinks. _Not Brienne_. Daenerys's has fallen silent, and now the entire court is looking at him, but Jaime can't do anything but stare at where Arya Stark, because she can't be anyone else, is staring back at him.

"Brienne," he hears himself say, his voice a thin croak after not being used for so many moons. He swallows hard and tries again, " _Where's Brienne?_ "

…


	5. Dark Wings, Dark Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne's sitting in her father's solar breaking her fast on her own when the letter is delivered.

Brienne's sitting in her father's solar breaking her fast on her own when the letter is delivered. 

It's been over a sennight since she arrived in Tarth, and loath as she is to admit it, Lady Sansa was right. It's done her a world of good to be back home, with her father and Pod caring for her and not allowing her to fall into a bleak mood. 

She hates to be confined to rest, whether it's in her father's solar or in her bed, but can't deny the truth of her injuries and the fact that she can't move freely just yet. Her father's maester has taken over her care, and he's sterner than Winterfell's maester has ever been, probably because he has the Evenstar to answer to while Lady Sansa's maester had to oversee an entire castle of injured people and couldn't be looking after Brienne as much.

She finds this terribly inconvenient, but can't say anything without risking hurting her father's feelings; instead, she spends as much time as she can with Lord Selwyn, slowly walking around her favourite cove or sitting together in the solar, telling each other everything that has happened since they were together last so many years ago. There is much to tell; Brienne's adventures in the mainland horrify and make the Evenstar proud in equal measure, the same way as her father's stories make her feel wistful for simpler times, when she only worried about learning sword fighting and inheriting the island.

The Evenstar has aged but not so much he's not still an imposing figure, as tall and broad as Brienne, with more silver in his hair than she remembers and clean-shaved like he was when she was a little girl running after her brother Galladon in the cove west side of Evenfall Hall.

"Too much salt on my beard, it made me think of my father," Selwyn had confessed when Brienne remarked on it the first day as they slowly rode to Evenfall Hall. "Call it the vanity of an old man."

"You're not old, father, just distinguished," she had insisted, and he had smiled at her with such fondness she had felt her heart swell. 

She had really missed her father.

Pod had protested when she had made to mount her horse unassisted, and had insisted on helping her up and explaining to her father she had been grievously injured in the battle and Winterfell's maester had asked her to ride only if unavoidable, and as slow as she could. Brienne was equal parts proud of him for standing up to her for her own good, and irritated that now her father was also going to treat her as an invalid. They had made it to Evenfall Hall in twice as much time as they normally would, but she had chosen not to complain. She had watched her island in a way she had never done before, seeing her people, those who knew her and waved and those who didn't and pointed at her and whispered. 

She needed to get used to the whispers again now her appearance was even more shocking than before.

Her father had not commented on the bandage on her cheek until he saw the wound the following day when the maester was cleaning it. It was as horrifying as she had feared, the skin and muscle of her cheek torn apart leaving a gaping wound. If it ever fully closed, it would leave a deep and unsightly scar. She had felt like weeping at the sight.

"Oh, my child, what has happened to you?" he asked, his voice as sad as his eyes.

"One of the dead," she admitted, voice thin and choked, her hand fluttering uselessly to her face before she let it fall. It wasn't enough to properly convey the terror of that battle, but she had the feeling her father could read it in her eyes and the shadows under them. If not, he'd be able to guess when she started screaming the walls down at night as she'd done in Winterfell and the ship.

"Come to my solar and we'll talk once Maester Wincott is done with you." She had nodded and let the maester finish his examination, subjecting herself dutifully to his poking and prodding. 

He didn't tell her anything she didn't know, her wounds were healing and she had avoided an infection, the most likely result considering the kind of blade the dead had wielded, thanks to Sam's skill when he saw to her right after the battle. 

He'd told her not to overexert herself; she's allowed short walks down in the cove, which she enjoys every morning with her father, and no training at all. As much as it irks her because she wants to recover her strength as soon as possible, Brienne's doing as she's been told.

"I don't think I've been as scared as I was when your ransom was rejected," her father had told her that day when they were finally alone in his solar. Pod had gone down to the courtyard to train with the master at arms after much insisting on Brienne's part; he was still her squire and shouldn't neglect his training. "I didn't want to imagine why they were turning down a fair ransom, something not done unless they had killed you already. Or worse."

"It was in part Ser Jaime's fault," she had said, remembering the ruse he had employed to save her honour, and how it had almost backfired. "He convinced them Tarth was famous for our sapphire mines, and that you would pay my weight in gemstones if they returned me unspoiled." Measured words that couldn't convey properly the horror of what had almost happened to her, or what had happened to him, but her father's grim countenance told her he understood enough. "When you offered them less than that, they thought you were conning them."

"Ser Jaime?" her father had asked, and she realized she had never told him about them, not really. She had always kept her letters vague, never mentioning the name of her charge or what had happened on the way, hoping to save her father worries. She knows now it was the opposite, that he imagined horrors where she left blank spaces for him to. " _The Kingslayer?_ "

She had felt a pang at that hated name, and knew she would always feel it. "Yes, Ser Jaime Lannister."

"Tell me, my child, how is it that you speak so fondly of a known oathbreaker?" he father had asked plainly, no judgement in his voice. "You, who has such a moral compass and should hate that kind of man."

And she had, she had told him everything, from the moment they started their trek south together and the insults and fights, their captivity and him losing his hand in exchange for her honour, to when his letter had arrived at Winterfell with his death sentence written in it. She had told her father things she knew he wouldn't approve of, about them sharing that bath in Harrenhal and the confessions that ensued there. She had told him about Oathkeeper, about the bear, about the Dragonpit argument and their meeting in Riverrun. And the entire time she was speaking she had been aware her words were a love declaration, one his father was unlikely to miss.

"Oh Brienne, I'm so sorry." Her father had embraced her and allowed her to cry on his shoulder, and when she was done it felt as if a festering wound had been lanced and the infection drained. 

She could start healing.

And now this letter has reopened the wound and Brienne's not sure what to do next.

_Dear Lady Brienne,_

_I hope this letter finds you well in Tarth and that your recovery is underway. My sister and I arrived in King's Landing some days ago and have been incredibly busy ever since. I apologize in advance for not writing to you sooner, and for not sending this by raven, there is much I need to tell you to consign into just one small scroll._

_As I had guessed my brother is to marry Queen Daenerys Targaryen in the next days. What I didn't know, and which will soon be known throughout the realm, is that Jon Snow is more than my brother. It has come to light he really is Aegon Targaryen, the legitimate son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, who married in secret during the rebellion. I don't think that would have changed much in their decision to marry since they appear to be in love, but with the truth of his parentage, my brother is the legitimate heir of the Iron Throne. He has chosen to relinquish his claim, since Jon has never been ambitious, and is happy with claiming the title of King Consort to Daenerys, though he has bargained for the North to remain independent under Stark rule._

_Lady Brienne, I'm to be crowned Queen in the North tomorrow, and I know I owe this to you. Without you, I would not be here now, and if I had known this was in the planning, I'd have had you travel with me to King's Landing to have you next to me in this day, though I know your recovery is the most important right now. You will always have a place by my side, rest assured, and you will always be welcomed in both Winterfell and King's Landing as an honoured friend._

_There is something else of import you need to know. I don't believe Lord Tyrion has written to you, but don't blame him since I don't think he's slept more than two hours since his arrival in the capital._

_Lord Jaime was found shortly after King's Landing was taken, still alive though his condition was severe enough Sam wasn't sure he'd survive for several days. He'd been imprisoned in the Black Cells. I have been informed today of this fact, and that he's once again conscious and appear to be physically recovering. Lord Tyrion had kept his survival as quiet as he could in consideration for his condition, though he has made it known today in court when it was announced the Lord of Casterly Rock had pledged his fealty to the Queen and offered their gold reserves to buy food for the realm. In exchange, Queen Daenerys has offered a full pardon for his crimes and has confirmed Jaime Lannister as the Lord of Casterly Rock. He will present himself in court as soon as Sam deems his hale enough for it. We don't know what was done to him, but Lord Jaime hasn't spoken a word since he awoke a fortnight ago. Sam, Gilly and Tyrion are taking care of him, and I'm sure doing all that can be done to help him, but considering your relationship with him and your feelings for him, I think you might want to come to King's Landing, if you are well enough._

_Please, Lady Brienne, I hesitated to send you this letter because I don't want you to set your own recovery aside for Lord Jaime. I know your feelings for him but please think of yourself first._

_Your friend,_

_Sansa Stark, Queen in the North._

She has to read it several times to fully comprehend the words, her mind stuck in just one word. Alive. Jaime's alive. The rest of the words are just background noise in her head. She feels a sudden flush of directionless anger; she has mourned him, has cried for him and dreamt of him and grieved him for the past moons since that letter arrived in Winterfell. Then she really allows the full meaning of everything she's read and the anger is burned clean out of her, finding a target for it. Her target is dead, though, she took her own life, cowardly like she was in life, and left her brother broken in the bleakest place in the world. 

She's still sitting there, the letter in her hands and her eyes fixed on a point in the horizon when her father arrives, a scroll in his hand and a frown on his face. 

He takes a quick look at her and sits by her side. "What happened, child?"

She turns to him and notices the way her hand is clenched on the letter, she doesn't want to know what the look on her face it's telling her father. She wants to go to King's Landing, wants to go there more than anything and reassure herself he really is alive but doesn't want anyone to see her the way she's now, least of all Jaime. 

"Ser Jaime is alive," she says, and then she smiles sadly, her scar pulling at the skin of her cheek and reminding her it's there, as if she could forget. " _Lord Jaime_ now, I guess. How he must hate that, he never wanted the title."

"So that's what this raven means." Selwyn sighs and takes her hand. "We're going to King's Landing."

Brienne shakes her head. "I don't want him to see me like this." She can endure the looks and whispers here in Tarth, where people will respect her due to her position. Might even be able to do it in court, next to Queen Sansa as her sworn sword. But she doesn't want to see Jaime looking at her with revulsion, or even worse, pity.

"And yet, we're going," he says, handing her the raven scroll. She reads it quickly and closes her eyes, nodding. "I'll get Pod to start packing and contact the harbour master for our fastest ship."

_Dear Lady Brienne,_

_I'm sorry I didn't think to call on you earlier, I've been overwrought with worry and overworked, though that doesn't excuse my oversight. My brother's alive and has been recuperating under the care of our Maester after traumatic imprisonment. He has attended court for the first time today, and the only words he's said since his rescue have been asking for you. I would be very grateful if you could attend to us in court if you are recovered enough from your own injuries._

_Gratefully yours,_

_Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the Queen._

...

Kings Landing hasn't changed much since the last time she was here, and yet it feels like an entire different place to Brienne. She's the one who's different, though.

The harbour is full to bursting with ships flying Greyjoy sails, most of them full of Dothraki and Unsullied returning to Essos. After the battle in Winterfell they had been given a choice whether to stay in Westeros or returning to Slaver's Bay to keep it in Daenerys's name, after helping her take the Iron Throne. Most of the Unsullied had chosen to go back to Mereen to keep Mysha's peace there with the help of the Second Sons, the Dothraki were returning to Vales Dothrak after Westeros had proven to be too cold and ugly for their taste.

They make their way into the Red Keep surrounded by the bustle of a city overcrowded, and everywhere Brienne can feel eyes on her, following their progress. She's as tall as her father, who is easily the tallest man on the street, and they're both wearing their house colours, breeches and tunic in blue and pink with their moons and stars. Her father's also wearing a cloak with their sigil, proclaiming loudly the presence in court of the elusive Evenstar. It's a consicous choice on his part, an attempt to divert attention from her, though it doesn't appear to be working. 

"Is that her?" she hears someone say in a whisper, it makes her want to hunch her shoulders and disappear beneath her father's cloak.

"Must be, that's the Evenstar, her father," another one says. She knows Jaime asked about her during court, making any attempt to keep their connection quiet useless.

It has been barely three days since they received the raven, the winds favouring them and bringing their ship to port a day before they expected to. Brienne had sent ravens to Sansa and to Tyrion announcing them their departure for King's Landing, but they are probably not expecting them yet. They were supposed to arrive tomorrow when they would present themselves to the Queen and King and officially bend the knee. Instead, the guards take them inside the keep to the area Brienne remembers the guest quarters were located. 

"Lord Evenstar, Lady Brienne, the Lord Hand left isntructions in case you arrived when he wasn't available," the guard says, taking them to one of the rooms. "You are here as guests of the Crown, please make yourself comfortable in your quarters."

Brienne is glad to have been given a moment to compose herself, she's feeling uncharacteristically nervous at the idea of seeing Jaime again. She had not cared when her feelings had been exposed for all to see in Winterfell, believing he was dead, but now she has to face him, both of them alive and with the knowledge of her feelings for him in the open. It's a daunting prospect, especially now she's feeling so much more vulnerable because of her new scars.

The knock on the door comes faster than she had imagined, and then there's Tyrion, entering the room. "Lady Brienne, I can't thank you enough for coming so quickly," he says, his eyes soft and warm when they look at her, not missing her choice to come unarmoured or the new scars she's showing, still red and half healed. "Lord Evenstar, if I could borrow your daughter for a bit? My brother has been on tenterhooks." He turns to Brienne and she can see the worry still there. "Once he knew you had survived and were coming, he's gone back to not speaking. I hope you can help."

"I hope I can," she says and turns to her father.

"Just go, Brienne, I'll see you tonight."

She follows Tyrion outside. "I am very sorry I didn't think to contact you, in my defence, I had too many things in my mind and didn't remember until Lady Sansa mentioned it, and by then she was already sending you a letter," Tyrion explains. 

"I understand," she says, and she does. He's the Hand of the Queen and they had just won a war when they found his brother. It would have been more surprising he had thought her.

"Please remember," he says when they stop in front of a closed door. "He's still recovering, but he's much better than when we found him. He's still not himself, though."

"Lord Tyrion, I was with your brother when he lost his hand after being a captive during a year. I think I've seen him at his lowest. I'm not easy to shock."

Tyrion nods sadly. "This time, it was worse."

He opens the door and Brienne is not ready. She's not. But she has no choice but to take a step and enter the room. 

Jaime is sitting on an armchair by the hearth, staring into nothingness. 

The first impression Brienne has is that he could pass for one of the wights she fought in Winterfell, his cheeks and eyes sunken on his face, his skin stretched over prominent bones and he's too pale. Except his eyes are not that terrible blue, his eyes are still the same beautiful green she remembers, even if they are lifeless and dull now. She can also see how his tunic shows his prominent collarbones, hiding what used to be a defined chest and it's now little more than skin stretched over bone. She knows what caused what she's seeing, he was starved probably to the verge of death, and more than likely also dehydrated. 

He turns his head at the sound of the door and sees her, and Brienne's heart slams painfully against her chest when his eyes suddenly turn bright and alive, the eyes she remembers, and he tries to stand from his seat with a great effort, his mouth curling into a smile she can't help but return. 

_"Ser Jaime."_

_"Lady Brienne."_

...


	6. In The Bathhouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime wasn't expecting Brienne to look like he feels, but she's still the best thing he's seen since he got out of the Black Cells.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this was the hardest chapter to write, and I feel like I need to apologize to the poor darlings, but I promise this is the last of the hurt. Comfort is coming.

Jaime wasn't expecting Brienne to look like he feels, but she's still the best thing he's seen since he got out of the Black Cells.

"Ser Jaime," she says from the door to his room, Tyrion standing behind her. Jaime tries to stand from the armchair, the gesture one ingrained after many years standing in the presence of ladies, though the effort it takes leaves him almost breathless.

"Lady Brienne," he says, unthinking, and sees how Tyrion's brows climb up his forehead. 

He knows his brother is worried about him, but there is nothing he can do about it. Jaime's not in control of his body's reactions, not really, can't help the way his heart speeds up and his mouth dries when he tries to speak or how his gut clenches when he sees food. He can't help but flinch at any touch that it's not Sam or Gilly's, who he has taught himself to endure, or how his skin crawls at the idea of being out of his room again, even when he can walk better and for longer stretches now. 

His presentation to the court a couple of days past has only cemented it for him; the looks and whispers that followed him, half pity and half derision at his weakness, and the people who reached for him even as he flinched back from them.

He didn't need to hear what they were saying to know most people believe he's broken, and that he deserves what he got. Not for killing Aerys, funnily enough, since that was the reason he was despised before, but for not killing Cersei. Now Daenerys has publicly announced his pardon for Aerys's death and called it an honourable deed for the good of the people, they have just found something else to despise him for, and he can't even argue with them. Most of the things he did to keep his relationship with his sister a secret and Cersei in power were foul deeds and he regrets them almost as much as he loathes courtiers and their sycophantic ways.

He would care more about his moment in court had it not been for Sansa Stark, Queen in the North now, who had looked at him with shock and sympathy at his outburst, and had hurried to answer his question as if she knew the panic he was feeling at the idea of Brienne's death.

"Lady Brienne is back in Tarth, recuperating from the injuries she sustained during the battle in Winterfell," Sansa had said, loud and clear in the room, and Jaime had felt the relief like a punch in the gut, sagging against his brother. He had opened his mouth to thank Sansa and found his voice gone again. 

His brother and Sam had taken him back to his rooms immediately, and Tyrion had gone to send a raven as soon as Jaime was ensconced into his bed again. 

And now she's here, and Jaime has spoken without thinking and smiled for the first time since before he went into the darkness of the Black Cells.

"I believe I can leave the two of you alone for a few minutes without a chaperone," Tyrion says, a thread of humour in his voice and Brienne flushes and endearingly blotchy pink."I'll go see to the Evenstar."

He leaves and closes the door behind him, mainly to keep Jaime from curious looks from anyone who might pass by. 

Brienne stays standing by the door, frozen, her eyes fixed on Jaime. She looks like she's aged ten years since the last time he saw her, the confidence he had found so compelling in her gone like it was never there. Instead, she's unarmoured and unarmed, dressed in Tarth's colours and still wearing male garb, but where before she kept her spine straight and her shoulders relaxed she's now hunched and tense. Her eyes are still the same, though, still the most astonishing eyes Jaime has ever seen. 

Brienne turns fully to him, and he sees it then, on her cheek, or what remains of it, the knotted scar of what had to be a painful wound. It's still an angry red, scabbed in parts, but Jaime can tell it won't close completely making her already homely face even uglier _. Oh, Brienne_. She's waiting for his reaction, and Jaime would bet anything this is the reason for her change, that people recoil from her like the unthinking beasts most of them are.

He keeps all his thoughts from showing on his face. "It's good to see you again, my lady," he says, his voice rough from disuse. He's about to offer her a chair when his knees wobble and that forces Brienne into movement. 

She's by his side in an instant, her hands clamped around his forearms steadying him and helping him sit again. He's not even surprised by the fact that he doesn't flinch from her touch, or by how gentle and firm it is. Didn't he flee to her arms and her touch while under his sweet sister's ministrations? Hasn't his voice returned to speak to her?

She then takes the chair by his bedside and moves it next to his armchair, taking her own seat, her eyes never leaving him.

"Ser Jaime," she says again, softly and full of wonder, and her voice breaks on the next words. "it's good to see you as well."

_She believed I was dead for several moons_. Jaime realizes and thinks of his sister's taunts about Brienne loving him. Even if they were true, even if she loved him, she deserves better than a broken ageing cripple. They are both a bit broken, though, and he had thought so much about her during his captivity, had used his memories of her as his safe place, that it's not hard to believe he might love her as well.

However, now is not the time for those feelings, whatever they are. Not while they're so fragile, not while they need to heal.

"Tell me, Lady Brienne, have you seen Queen Sansa?" He finally asks, choosing to break the silence between them with something that won't remind them of their wounds.

Brienne's entire posture relaxes, and her lips curl up in a proud smile at the mention of her lady. "I haven't yet," she says, "but I will call on her as soon as I can. Did you see Arya? Both of Lady Catelyn's daughters survived and hold the north now, along with their brother. She'd be so proud. And we made it possible, in some measure, by keeping our oaths."

They are still talking about Starks and Targaryens and the new order of the realm in halting sentences that skirt around the subject of both battles, when Sam enters with his bowl of food and Jaime makes a face at it, furrowing his brow at him. 

"You know you have to, Lord Jaime," Sam says in response to his glowering and then stops and looks at Brienne, his face splitting in a grin. "Lady Brienne, I'm so glad to see you." He carelessly places the bowl of broth on Jaime's lap and goes straight to Brienne and makes approving noises at the healing scar on her face, Brienne uncomfortably fidgeting under his scrutiny. "How are your other injuries? Are you fully healed? Your leg or chest giving you problems?"

Jaime starts at that. "What other injuries?" He asks her, and Sam stops and turns at that, his grin widening.

"Nothing life-threatening, Lord Jaime," she lies, baldfaced and terrible, she's always been an awful liar. Jaime feels his brows climbing up his forehead and turns to Sam who just looks calmly at him.

"You just spoke to her, Lord Jaime, you can ask me with your voice instead of your eyebrows."

He feels his heart speeding up in the usual way, but he grits his teeth this time and forces his mouth to obey him. " _What. Injuries?_ " 

Sam's resulting smile could have powered up the sun, but his words are grave enough to temper it. "Lady Brienne took a sword to the chest and another to the leg, though it was the blood loss what really made them almost fatal." He looks haunted for a moment, and Jaime is reminded that Sam was a Night Watchman, disbanded as the order is now, and that he has faced the White Walkers more than once and he, like Brienne, fought in the battle of Winterfell. "I patched her up before coming South." Which means he saved her life the same as he saved Jaime's.

"Thank you," Jaime says, sincerely, and this time the words come to him easily.

"Now, Lord Jaime, it's time to eat."

He looks at the food and feels the familiar clenching in his stomach, nausea rising, and the idea of going through this in front of Brienne suddenly feels like another torture. She must see some of it on his face because she stands up.

"I've taken up enough of your time, Lord Jaime," she says, "I have to pay my respects to Queen Daenerys and Queen Sansa, and find my father for dinner."

"Will you come to visit me tomorrow?" He asks, relieved.

"I will."

Jaime watches her go and then turns to his food, staring mournfully at it before he picks up the spoon and starts eating.

… 

Brienne's back the following day after they break their fast, she's been excused from court after she presented herself to the Queens the day before. The Evenstar, her father, will be officially pledging their island to Daenerys Targaryen during morning court.

"Pod is also here, spending time with your brother," she says from where she's sitting on the chair. Jaime's still abed, the day before has taken its toll on him and the nightmares have been particularly vicious, bringing back Cersei's voice in his ear, taunting him about Brienne while she used his body. It's no wonder he has barely slept.

Brienne also looks like she had a rough night, the shadows under her eyes almost as dark as his, and her skin wan and pale. "If he'd take my brother out to relax for an evening, I'd be very grateful," Jaime says, remembering the rumours he heard about Podrick Payne and his prowess in the Street of Silk. "Tyrion's spent all his free time with me, and he doesn't have much of it to begin with."

"I'm sure Pod can convince him while I keep you company," she says, not fully meeting his eyes, her cheeks flushed. "If you don't mind my company in your brother's stead."

He doesn't mind, prefers it even since Brienne doesn't ask anything of him or looks at him with those concerned eyes. He's being unfair, he knows; his brother has been by his side the entire time, even before they knew Jaime was going to come through in the end and has been afraid for him the entire time. Jaime had only been able to talk to Tyrion the night before because he had forced himself to, bitting out his brother's name past a clenching throat. It had been worth the effort, and also the effort not to flinch when Tyrion had embraced him, eyes suspiciously shiny. 

After that, Jaime finds words come easy, at least with some people.

Brienne stays the entire morning with him, talking about nothing or just being silent next to him, until Gilly comes with his food and whatever expression she sees there, makes her leave him alone to his most hated task once again. 

"She's a great lady," Gilly says once they are alone again and Jaime's choking down his broth. He wonders when it will become easier; he should already be used to it, should already be able to take meat and solid foods, but anything stronger than broth and bread will make him throw up. At this rate, he'll be an old man before he has the strength to pick up a sword again. "Lady Brienne, I remember seeing her in Winterfell with Lady Sansa. She taught soldiers how to fight, and when there were no soldiers, she taught the women. She said the dead didn't care what we had between our legs, they would kill us as well, and women needed to be able to kill them too."

Jaime nods. "She's a real knight."

Gilly tuts, disapproving. " _She's a real lady_ , Lord Jaime, with a lady's heart." She frowns at him, an expression so at odds with her usual demeanour that gives him pause. "I remember in the North, the Lords and Ladies say they respect her as a knight, but then you were dead and she cried and showed she was a woman, with a woman's heart, and they called silly and ugly and laughed behind her back."

Jaime feels a stab of anger at Gilly's words, the first real emotion beyond fear he's felt in a long time. "I would never laugh at her," he says vehemently. "And I don't care what she looks like."

Gilly looks sceptical for a moment. "I know men, they always say they don't care and then they want pretty girls."

"My sister was considered the most beautiful woman in Westeros," he retorts, pushing his bowl of broth aside. He's done for now, what little appetite he had completely gone. "And she was a monster. I don't care what Brienne looks like, and with those eyes, I would never call her ugly. Not anymore." He had done many years ago, but they were both different people then.

Gilly's look is assessing for an instant, then she smiles. "You love Lady Brienne."

"Probably. But now is not the time for it."

"Lord Jaime, I was broken when I met Sam, he helped me and treated me like a real person who deserved to be loved instead of one of Craster's daughter-wives. You don't choose who you love, and you don't choose when you fall for them. Might be love is what you need to heal." She retrieves the bowl and goes to the door, leaving Jaime with his thoughts.

…

Brienne comes back in the evening and leaves again by dinnertime, and the same again the next day. 

The still sit close and talk like friends, but Jaime can see a barrier, a distance between them that keeps them from sharing what they really need to share. He has tried but has been unable to get the words past his lips, not in the same way he had kept silent before she arrived, but still incapable of finding the words he needs to express it.

Both of them are hurting, not just physical wounds, and they seem to be unable to talk about it. 

And as much as Jaime is glad to have her there with him, sitting by his side during the day, his nights are plagued with worse nightmares than usual. They need to talk, really talk, and Jaime is reminded of the one place where he was able to confess his deepest secrets to her. 

"I need a favour," he asks Tyrion when he visits him that night.

Tyrion regards him for a moment and then smiles widely. It's the first time Jaime has asked him for anything, and also the first time he's started the conversation himself. "Anything, within my means."

"I need the baths in the south wing prepared and emptied tomorrow after lunch time. No servants and no people close. Post a guard in the corridors if needed."

Tyrion frowns at him, puzzled. "You're venturing out for a bath? You can have one drawn in here."

"I have my reasons."

Tyrion shrugs, knowing his brother enough to know he's not getting an explanation. "Consider it done."

He's already prepared when Brienne arrives the next afternoon. "My Lady, I thought we could take a short walk today," he says, and it doesn't escape his notice how she hunches her shoulders. "We're not going far." 

He offers her his arm, though the one who needs the support is him, and she grabs it unhesitatingly until they are in front of the door to the baths. She turns to stare at him with wide eyes. 

"Nobody will interrupt us here today, my brother has made sure of it," he says, and can see in her eyes the same memories that have driven him here. Another bath and other secrets left in the open between the two of them. Brienne nods and they enter the baths together. "If you want, Brienne, I will turn my back until you're in the water."

She chuckles at that, soft and humourless. "Thanks, Jaime, but you've already seen me bare."

They shed their clothes the same way they shed their titles the moment they were inside the baths, and Jaime catalogues the changes in her as she's revealing skin. She's lost weight, it's the first thing he notices, probably the forced inactivity of her recovery, her muscles look less defined and though her legs still look powerful and toned, her stomach is a sunken and her ribs and collarbones more prominent. Not that Jaime can say anything, she looks positively chubby compared to him, and can see in her eyes the worry she feels taking in the estate of his body. 

She has a few more scars than he remembers, one still pink in her thigh and another recent one in her chest, just above her right breast. He immediately feels the urge to kiss them, but they're not here for that. He looks at her face last and finds her eyes fixed on him. 

They enter the water together and sit at opposite sides of the tub.

"We were sitting like this in Harrenhal," he begins to break the tense silence, and she lifts her knees up to mirror that position with her arms around her legs.

"You were filthier then, and mouthier," she says, her mouth ticking up in a half smile. 

"And I ended up fainting. I remember you held me when I did, and I thought for the first time you were gentler than Cersei. It was the first time you called me by my name instead of Kingslayer." Jaime looks into the distance, letting the steam from the bath and the warmth of the water lull him into a kind of trance. "That's where I went when I had to go away inside, in the Cells. Some days, when Cersei wanted me, Qyburn would come and clean me and I would just remember our time in the bath, and how gentle your hands were compared to him, how gentle you were compared to my sister."

"What happened?" Brienne asks finally, her voice thin and almost inaudible.

"Seeing that dead thing really shocked me." He closes his eyes, letting his head fall back. "I talked to our captains and began organizing the army as soon as your people left, Cersei laughed at me and called me the stupidest Lannister for believing we would give our aid for the survival of the realm. Then told me Euron had left to ferry the Golden Company back. I tried to make her see reason, but she didn't want to, she thought you would be easier to beat if your army was decimated by the dead. I think that's when my eyes were finally opened to the kind of monster she was, I had known before but refused to believe it. I told her I would ride north then and she ordered the Mountain to kill me. I knew her, though, new I had a bit of time. Cersei liked to play with her food, she wasn't going to kill me immediately, nothing so easy for the crime of leaving her. I took the time I should be using fleeing to get Bronn and give him the note he took north. They caught me outside King's Landing and threw me into the Black Cells. I don't know how long I was in there, I don't think I've even asked."

"It was close to four moons," Brienne says, and he has no doubt she's right, though to him each of those days felt like a lifetime.

"Inside the Cells," he recounts, "is impossible to tell the passage of time. There is no noise except the one you make and no light unless they bring one. You're left alone with your ghosts and your thoughts, and I have too many of those. It wasn't easy, most of the time I thought I was losing my mind, but they didn't employ many of the brutal tortures my sister liked to use with other prisoners. In a sense I was lucky."

Brienne snorts. "Do you feel lucky?"

"No."

"You survived having your sword hand taken from you, your sister knew physical torture was not the way to break you." _And she broke you_ , she doesn't say, though it's painfully obvious she did. Brienne's right, of course, but sometimes Jaime can't help but feel like he hadn't been tortured since he had no visible scars from it. 

"What happened in Winterfell?" he asks and she sighs. 

"I told your secret, I'm sorry," she says, and she sounds ashamed. He doesn't care, he owes his life to the fact that she told about Aerys, he has no doubt their Queen would have burned him alive otherwise. "Queen Daenerys didn't believe your brother, and she kept calling you oathbreaker and man without honour. And I…" she blushes violently, visible even when all her skin is flushed from the heat. "I lost my temper. We had just been told you were dead, and she kept insulting you, so I lost my temper and told your secret. Varys confirmed it. "

"And she didn't burn us all. So thank you." 

She glares at him then. "Do you know how it felt, mourning you?"

"No." He doesn't add that he didn't think anyone would have mourned him except his brother.

"And then, before I knew it, we were facing the army of the dead. I can't describe the terror that is trying to cut down an enemy that can't die because it's already dead, doesn't feel fear or pain or anything but the desire to kill you. They kept coming, regardless of how many of them I cut down, they crawled and rose again, their stench filling everything," her voice fades to a whisper, as if fearful of calling up the dead again just by mentioning them. Jaime has to approach her side of the tub to hear, but Brienne doesn't seem to notice, too lost in her own head. "I don't know for how long we were there, or how many people I saw die. The ones that fell rose later, eyes shining with blue ice, and tried to kill us as well. Pod was by my side, and I was terrified he would fall and rise again because I knew I wouldn't swing my sword at him and that would be the end of me. And I didn't even care." She's trembling, not just her voice but her entire body shaking. "I lost my footing at one point and went under a pile of the dead. That's when they stabbed me, and one of those rotten corpses crawled to me while I struggled, I could see the bone under the decaying flesh of its face, and the teeth as they opened and bit my face, tearing a chunk of it while I screamed and screamed. I still see it every night, only in my nightmares it's my father biting my face off, or Pod, _or you_."

He can't help it then, he extends his hand and grabs hers, pulling until she looks up at him and then falls into his arms, crying. He holds her for as long as her tears fall, uncaring of the fact they are both naked as their name day, this contact the most intimate he's had in his life, and the first he has initiated himself for a long, long time. " _You survived._ "

"Uglier than ever, the woman nobody can love," she says, and Jaime knows he had been right. It's her altered appearance and the fear she had to endure what has sapped her confidence, turned her into this timid shadow of herself. 

"That's not true, Brienne," he protests.

"Isn't it? Who can love the Ugliest Maid in Westeros? I've heard the whispers, I've seen them pointing at me."

"I can, I do," he admits, plainly. 

She pulls away from his arms in surprise, and then her eyes narrow, her voice taut with anger. "Don't pity me, Jaime. Anything but that."

"I don't. Do you pity me?" he asks her, and she shakes her head. "Don't you love me?"

"I do. But you don't love me the same way. _You don't want me_." Her eyes drop to the water, and he knows she's seeing his quiescent cock. He's just had an armful of naked woman who he admits to loving, and his cock didn't even stir. He knows how this looks to her. 

This time it's him who pushes his knees up in a futile gesture to protect himself, his voice choked with shame and pain. " _I can't._ " He closes his eyes so he can't see her reaction. "I did, before. I was aroused by you in Harrenhal, though I didn't even like you at the time. And since then I have thought of you and dreamed of you many a time. I was dreaming of you the first time when Cersei came to me in the Cells, and she saw my arousal. I think she wanted to make sure I would never think to lay with another woman without remembering her. She had always been able to take what she wanted from my body, and it didn't matter to her if I had to go away inside." He feels her start, clearly recognizing the advice and when he had given it to her. He feels her hands on his face, tentative as if testing whether he can stand them. When he looks at her, Brienne's face is impossibly sad and knowing. Jaime wants to turn his back on her but doesn't want to lose the grounding touch. As if she can read him, Brienne leans against the back of the tub and pulls until Jaime is sitting between her spread thighs, his back to her front, her arms around his torso. He leans his head back on her shoulder and closes his eyes. "She knew how to make me hard, and she knew how to make me peak. Those days my body wasn't mine, but hers, I could only control what I thought and what I said. Now, most of the time, when someone touches me I feel her hands, it makes my skin crawl."

"I'm sorry," she tries to remove her hands from him, but Jaime puts his left hand over hers, keeping them in place. 

"Not you. You were the one thing that kept me sane in there."

She hums softly under her breath and squeezes him for an instant. "Can you tell me about the food?"

She's noticed. Of course she has, she's very observant and Jaime hasn't been able to hide his reactions when confronted with it. 

"They wouldn't come for days," he starts, eyes still closed. "Not until I felt lightheaded and everything hurt. At first, I thought they were just letting me die like that, and I considered it a good death. Then Qyburn came with one of her guards, and my sister would stand there and watch while they forced meat into my mouth and made me chew it and swallow. It was something else I couldn't control, and more often than not the meat tasted revolting, rotten, and it would make me retch. Then it would be back to leaving me alone for days until the hunger pains were almost unbearable. I can't stand it now, and that's something else she's taken from me, because unless I start eating I'll never regain my strength, I will always be this broken cripple she discarded." 

He can hear the tears in his voice and feel his entire frame trembling in her arms, and finally, he gives himself to it, letting the anger and the helplessness and the fear he had felt drain out of him with his tears. He cries, big ugly sobs that shake the both of them, and she holds him as he has done for her. It feels cleansing. 

They're not mended, not by a long shot. 

But it's a start.

…

They make their way to his rooms several hours later, both of them stumbling like they are drunk, exhaustion turning their feet clumsy though they did nothing but lay in each other's arms in silence. They arrive in his room and tumble on to the bed, still dressed and curled around each other, asleep as soon as their heads touch the pillow.

It's Gilly the one who wakes them up in the morning when she brings him his morning bowl of disappointing and disgusting broth, her exclamation startling them awake. 

Jaime blinks blearily at her and feels Brienne stir by his side, the memories of the previous day returning to him. They really did it, they really exposed themselves in that way and told each other what was haunting them. They also confessed their love in the most terrible, inappropriate and unromantic way.

He feels lighter, hopeful for the first time. 

Brienne, on the other hand, looks shocked and terrified for a moment. She clearly hadn't intended to fall asleep there, though judging by the fact neither screamed the other awake and they appear to have rested properly for the first time, Jaime is going to push for them sleeping together from now on.

But she's an unmarried highborn lady, and he's a lord.

He will do nothing to shame and dishonour her, which is what will happen the moment she sets foot outside of his room after spending the night there, innocent as it was. If anyone sees her leaving, and someone other than Gilly will more than likely do, Brienne is either going to be treated like a whore or laughed as too ugly to dishonour. Or maybe both at the same time, because Jaime knows there is nothing courtiers wouldn't do or say to prop themselves up at the expense of others. 

"Lord Jaime," Gilly says, and he doesn't know whether he's going to congratulate or berate him. He doesn't let her finish, turning to Brienne and taking her hand. 

"Brienne, I know it's too soon, but I believe we would have got there eventually. We'll marry as soon as I get your father's permission." She stares at him with huge eyes, her mouth opening and closing and he feels a stab of doubt. "If that's something you want."

Brienne nods, still looking very much like she's been blindsided, and Jaime sighs in relief and falls back on the bed, completely ignoring Gilly's happy exclamations.

...


	7. I Am His and He Is Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They marry two days after Jaime proposes, if it can be called a proposal, in the Sept in the Red Keep.

They marry two days after Jaime proposes, if it can be called a proposal, in the Sept in the Red Keep. 

It's a rushed affair because Jaime insists they are not sleeping in separate rooms again, not after the first night in too many moons when neither of them woke up screaming. Brienne agrees with him.

"Are you sure this is what you want, my child?" Selwyn had asked her when she told him Jaime had asked for her hand in marriage. "I know you love him, but does he love you? I don't want you to give yourself to a man who can only use you as a crutch to prop himself up."

She had given her father's words the appropriate consideration. "He does." The one thing Jaime had never done is lie to her, for good or for bad, and he had said he loved her. 

"I'm not saying no," he had said after a minute. "Because you love him, and because the two of you have gone too far beyond honour and propriety for this to be anything but necessary," Brienne had looked down, flushed at the well-deserved chastisement. "but I want to meet him first."

They had gone to Jaime's room, where he was engaged in a glaring contest with Sam over his food. "Lord Jaime, that's not enough."

Jaime had scrunched his nose at the food. "I can't, I can smell the meat in this." He had turned to see the new arrivals and had lit up with a wide smile for her. " _Brienne_." The way he said her name, not using her title anymore, made her blush.

"Jaime," she had stepped in and allowed her father in the room, and Jaime had gone tense, almost drawing in on himself. He had forced himself to relax, the smile wobbling on his face for an instant. "My father wanted to meet you before we become a family."

Jaime had opened his mouth and closed it several times, and Brienne was reminded that he had only spoken to a very limited number of people so far, people he knew and trusted. She should have warned him before coming here with her father but had forgotten in her eagerness to get his approval.

"Lord Jaime," Selwyn had said before the silence became uncomfortable. "No need to stand or say anything, I've seen what I needed to see. You have my blessing."

Jaime had sagged and the smile was back in full force, and when he opened his mouth again his voice was loud and clear in the room. "Thank you, Lord Evenstar."

Her father had smiled at them before taking his leave. 

Now Jaime's in the almost empty Sept waiting for them dressed in Lannister crimson with his brother by his side, Widow's Wail tied to his waist and the Lannister cloak hanging from his shoulders. Brienne is also wearing her house colours, though she's not wearing a gown but breeches and tunic, Oathkeeper strapped to her side the way it should always be, Tarth's cloak trailing behind her.

"You can wear whatever you want as long as you are there and agree to take me as yours, breeches or gown is up to you" Jaime had said when Brienne had complained she looked terrible in gowns, and she was again reminded of the reasons she had come to love him.

Both Queens are attending the wedding, along with a small group of their closest friends and allies, and also Sam and Gilly, who looks shocked to find herself among royalty even when she's the Lady of Horn Hill. They are the only people they want around for this moment. This is definitely not the wedding she had imagined for herself when she was barely a girl and her Septa reminded her of all her failings as a lady. This is so much better: nobody is staring at Brienne as if she's a freak for being tall and mannish and wearing breeches and sword to her own wedding, nobody is whispering behind her back, and her future husband is not only a man she loves, but he's looking at her as if she was his sun and moon. 

"That was the look he gave you when you took me to his room," Selwyn says as they approach Jaime and the Septon, "that's not the look of a man using you for convenience, and the reason I happily give you to him."

The ceremony is brief and Brienne doesn't hear a word the Septon says, her entire focus on Jaime's hand tied with hers, his eyes fixed on hers, his mouth curled on a soft smile. She knows it's taking everything he has to stand here and let the Septon touch him, even briefly, can tell by the stiffness of his shoulder and the quickness of his breathing, but he's doing it anyway. His voice trembles slightly when it's the time for their vows, but after the first tremulous words, it strengthens and resonates in the Sept.

 _"Father. Smith. Warrior. Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger. I am hers, and she is mine, from this day, until the end of my days."_

He turns to her once their hands are untied and it's time for the cloaking of the bride, "I won't put my cloak on you, because I need two hands to tie it properly, and I want to spare you the embarrassment. And because you don't need my protection. Instead, I'll give you this," he unties Widow's Wail from his hip and hands it to her. "When I met you, you were carrying two swords and I wondered why would anyone need two. Now I know. I gave you my heart and what little honour I had years ago," he nods at Oathkeeper, and Brienne feels her throat closing. She remembers him telling her it was hers, it would always be hers, and how much she had hoped he cared for her then. _And he had_. "I give the rest of myself freely to you now and know I'm in the best hands. You kept me safe when I needed it the most, even if you were not physically there, you were with me."

She walks out of the Sept still wearing Tarth's cloak with her husband's hand in hers, his sword tied next to hers, and her cheeks wet with her tears. 

She's never been happier.

…

It was agreed there would be no bedding, just a small feast to celebrate their new life. She had wanted to say no, for Jaime's sake, but there was no polite way to refuse not one Queen, but two, who wanted to celebrate your happiness without revealing too much of things they'd rather keep between them. "Don't you worry about that, Brienne," her father had said, "it will be fine." 

She's still doubtful, and knows Jaime is feeling the trepidation of being around so much food, and knowing he will at least need to try something to avoid giving offence when they enter the great hall. It's only set for the people who have attended the wedding but the table's already piled with food, except for the space on the table where they are going to sit. The smell is familiar but it's not the earthy, fatty smell of meat, and there is no boar on the table. She looks and recognizes most of the dishes, they're some of her favourites from her home, fish and grain and fruit and not a single drop of meat or fat. Jaime looks at the display of food first with dismay and panic, and when he smells it and properly sees it, with pure ravenous _hunger_.

She turns to her father with wide eyes.

"Lord Jaime," Selwyn announces cheerfully, "since you're taking Tarth's pride and joy with you, I have taken the liberty of asking for our famous fish stew to entice you to come back with her soon. This is Tarth's speciality, and so much better than boar." She exchanges a look with Sam and sees her thoughts reflected on his face. Such a simple and obvious solution and they have been blind to it. "There is the usual fare, of course, if you would prefer that."

She can tell Jaime has stopped listening and is feeling overwhelmed again by the lack of verbal response, she guides him to the table and they sit. 

He still doesn't eat much, and talks even less, but his enjoyment of the food placed in front of him, the briny smell of shellfish and the colourful and earthy vegetables, is painfully obvious in the way his hand doesn't tremble when he places a spoonful of stew in his mouth, how his nose never scrunches up in distaste, and how he smiles with satisfaction when he finally pulls his plate away, sated for the first time in moons. He still needs to build up his appetite along with his strength, but it suddenly doesn't feel like an insurmountable task.

"Thank you," she tells her father afterwards, hugging him tightly.

"Lady Brienne," Sansa says after congratulating her. "I'm happy to see you smiling again, I worried for you when you left us. I hope you will come to visit us in Winterfell soon."

"It will be our honour, Your Grace," she says, though she knows they won't be going anytime soon. Jaime just nods, eyeing both Sansa and Arya warily. Brienne had told him about Bran the day before, because she didn't want him to learn he was still alive during their wedding, not while she knows he regrets that one act above any other. He had stared at her in shock and then not spoken for the remainder of the day, flinching back from touch until it was time to sleep, when he had grabbed her wrist and asked her to stay with him.

Daenerys also approaches them. "Lord Jaime, Lady Brienne, I wish to thank you," she says, her voice measured and her bearing regal. She's not overly warm towards them, which is to be expected, but she's aware of her position and responsibilities towards those who serve her. She has the potential to be a good Queen, as long as she has someone to balance her worst impulses. She didn't before, and the way she looks at Sam with a tinge of regret means that she knows this. "I was driven by the wrong motivation when I arrived here, and I had my eyes forcibly opened thanks to the both of you. I vow I will not turn into my father lest I share his fate."

The rest of the feast continues in the same way, and much too soon, Jaime is stiff as a board next to her. "Shall we retire to our rooms, my wife?" He says loudly, though he's just looking at her so his words come out easily, a clear sign that he's exhausted. She nods, blushing, and lets the cheers and toasts for a bedding everyone knows it's not going to happen send them out of the hall and into their rooms. They quickly disrobe and fall on the bed, pressed against each other for the simple comfort of being together. 

"I haven't kissed you yet, my wife," Jaime slurs against the skin of her neck. "I am very sorry I couldn't do it in the Sept. I will soon, I promise."

"It's fine, Jaime." She says, and it is. Though she would have loved to feel his lips against hers, but she can have him pressed against her body like this now, and it will be enough. 

For however long it takes him, it has to be enough.

…

She wakes up alone in bed. 

For a moment, her stomach lurches and she thinks this has all been just a dream or a very convoluted joke at her expense. Then she hears Jaime's breath in the room and the scratch of quill over paper. 

She sits up on the bed and looks around until she finds him. Jaime's in his writing desk, shirtless, and from there she can observe him. He's still too thin, she can count his ribs from the bed and can clearly see the jut of his hip bones, the muscles in his arms from sword fighting almost wasted away, he's too pale from several moons not letting the sun kiss his skin, and yet he's still the most beautiful man she has ever seen.

She wants to hide her ugly and scarred face and huge body under the bedsheets, why would a man like him want her? How can a man like that love her? 

She looks monstrous next to him. 

Her breathing picks up and he must notice because he turns and smiles at her and Brienne feels her own lips turn up on an answering smile, her breathing slowing down. She has to remind herself this beautiful man chose her. It's only been one day, it will get easier to believe with time.

"Did you sleep well, Lady Lannister?" She starts at the name, but it's her proper address now. He turns to his letter and signs it with a flourish, folding and sealing it before he drops the quill and goes back to bed. She lays back on the mattress, her almost naked body stretched out. Jaime looks at her, his gaze heated, almost like a caress on her skin but he's not making any move to properly touch her, nor can she see any sign of arousal in him. 

"I'm sorry I can't love you the way you deserve yet," he says, uncannily going straight to the reason for her worry, and lays next to her on the bed. He turns his head and lifts his left hand, the tips of his fingers brushing her lips, oh so softly, tracing the lines of her too wide mouth and then he moves them up her broken nose and following one eyebrow, and Brienne forgets how to breathe at the gentleness of his touch and the look in his eyes. "But I will. I promise I will." He then moves forward and presses his lips to the scar on her cheek, just a soft brush over the wound, no more than his breath on her skin.

Brienne freezes, her heart slamming against her chest, and she forces down the urge to push him away and cover her face with her hands.

Jaime notices her reaction and moves away from her, taking her hand and squeezing once before he sits up on the bed again. 

"I'm writing to my Aunt Genna," he begins while Brienne struggles to compose herself. "We're not going to Casterly Rock, she can keep managing the Westerlands, they've been doing fine without me for years. I've heard great things about this beautiful island in the Stormlands, it's famous for its sapphire waters and, apparently, their fish. You might have heard of it, Tarth, and I heard they have the most unique women." 

"You want to go to Tarth?" she asks, hopeful. She was willing to go to Casterly Rock or stay here in Kings Landing if that was what he wanted, but the idea of being together in Tarth, with her father and surrounded by her people and the beautiful sea make her smile.

"I think it will be good for both of us, we can't stay here cooped up inside a room to avoid all those cunts in court, and if we go outside I'm likely to end up offending or challenging to a duel the first courtier who's rude to you or me. I'm barely capable of holding a spoon, Brienne, nevermind a sword, you'd have to kill half the court," he admits with a rueful smile, and she can perfectly see it. The people in court thrive on other people's misery and embarrassment, and the way both of them are right now, they'd be considered easy targets. They're not, not really, but they'd be forced to demonstrate why, never a good idea in court. "Casterly Rock it's too full of ghosts, I don't want to set foot again there."

She knows whose ghosts live there. "Tarth is beautiful," she says instead and opens her arms for Jaime to climb back into them. "We have the bluest and warmest waters, and the mountains surrounding the main town are always a luscious green. There is a cove next to Evenfall Hall where nobody ever goes, and we will be able to swim there."

"And the fish, Brienne, the fish!" he says excitedly. "I can eat fish."

She laughs at his ridiculous enthusiasm, letting it build inside of her and erupt from her lips in the braying, unladylike guffaws her Septa always hit her to force to stop. Jaime looks at her and chuckles with her, pressing his lips to her forehead. 

"We're going to Tarth," she says, nodding, once she calms down. 

He holds her tighter. "We're going home."

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The way I see it, Tarth is an island and most specialities are fish based. Sam and Tyrion are mainlanders, and highborn so they will be more used to a meat-based diet than an islander. Gilly is from north of the wall but nowhere close to the sea, so she won't think of fish immediately.


	8. The Sapphire Island

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tarth is the most beautiful place in the realm, and Jaime will fight anyone who says otherwise.

Tarth is the most beautiful place in the realm, and Jaime will fight anyone who says otherwise. 

In the fortnight since they sailed into the Sapphire Island he has fallen in love with it a million times for many different reasons; its beautiful waters are only rivalled by the blue of Brienne's eyes, the mountains surrounding the island are a deep green like emeralds and the towns are filled with white houses and smiling people. Even the ones who looked oddly at them when they travelled from the harbour to the castle had not said anything, whether out of fear of their lord or out of respect, it's better than the snickers and jeers of people in King's Landing when they had departed.

Evenfall Hall might not be a magnificent castle like Casterly Rock but it more than makes up for it with the gorgeous private cove that can only be accessed from the castle, the big courtyard facing the sea and the Lord's solar looking over the cliffs. The Castle is just a castle, plenty of space and rock, but the views when the sun sets over the horizon are the most stunning Jaime has seen. 

He would have laughed at anyone telling him one day he'd be singing the praises of a sunset, but that was before he spent four moons in complete darkness with only cold and dirty walls around him. It puts things in perspective. 

He was right when he decided that was the place to go to heal. There is nothing here that reminds him of either King's Landing or Casterly Rock. As far as he's concerned, both those places exist only in his nightmares.

Not to say he's fine now, he's not. 

Jaime feels better, he's been enjoying being able to eat without nausea, and would have never guessed there were so many different ways to cook fish, or that vegetables could be not dripping in fat and taste good. He's still unable to eat more than a toddler does, but he can already feel his strength returning, the regular food and the short walks around the little cove by Evenfall Hall are doing wonders for him. 

The best, though, is seeing how Brienne has changed since the moment they set foot on the island. She's shed her timidity like an ill-fitting gown now that she's away from judgmental states and snickering courtiers, around Evenfall Hall Brienne walks tall and even smiles. 

Seeing her with her father is also a revelation; Jaime's ideas of family have been tainted by his cold father and controlling sister. He can see now Tywin cared little for his children beyond what they would do to perpetuate the Lannister name, and the way he had always hated Tyrion had never sat well with him. He didn't know it was possible for a father to look at his daughter with love and pride, even when she isn't the perfect daughter he would have expected. Jaime loves Brienne, he does, but it's hard for him to imagine her any less stubborn as a child, or dressed in gowns and practising needlepoint instead of sword fighting. Tywin would have sooner sent Cersei away to become a Septa than allow her to pick up a sword and swear her service to another house. 

"What was I supposed to do? Three times I tried to arrange a match for her, and three times I made her cry. The first one died, the second one was cruel to her, and the third one tried to put her in her place and ended up with broken bones as a result," Selwyn had said when Jaime mentioned this, looking at him with a puzzled frown. It was their fourth day in Tarth and the first one Jaime felt like talking with someone other than Brienne. He loves Tarth but there were too many new things at once, and he couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. They were sitting in Selwyn solar's enjoying the sun and the breeze, no pressing matters calling for the attention of the Evenstar. Sam, who had accepted Brienne's invitation to visit with them, shared a look with Jaime. In the distance, they could hear Little Sam's laugh where he was chasing Brienne, Gilly and Pod around. "Brienne is the only daughter I have left, her happiness is paramount to me. Not to say I will allow her to do whatever she wants," he had looked at Jaime pointedly. "Had she ever told me the real risks she took for Catelyn Stark, I would have sailed to the Riverlands myself."

"To drag her back home against her will?" Sam had asked, and even he sounded sceptical.

"Good luck with that," Jaime had muttered, and Selwyn had chuckled.

"You do know my daughter."

" _I know my wife_." It still gave him a thrill to refer to her like that.

"I would have travelled with her and helped her fulfil her vows so I could take her back home." Selwyn had said as if it was just that easy to leave his home chasing after his stubborn daughter. Maybe it was.

Sam had sighed wistfully, Jaime understood the feeling very much. "My father gave me a choice, the Night Watch or a hunting accident. His house wasn't going to be inherited by a fat craven like me."

"Sorry, Sam, but your father was a cunt and you are the Lord of Horn Hill," Jaime had said, and meant every word of it. Brienne had confided in him about the bet in Renly's camp, how it had made her feel like she was too ugly to love and good only for a joke, and how Randyll Tarly's intervention had only made her feel even worse. Jaime would have kissed and made love to her to prove to her how wrong they were, but he had only been able to hold her tight and repeat with useless words what he had already told her before.

"I know." Sam had still mourned him, the same as Jaime had mourned Tywin, undeserving as they both had been. "At least now I know how not to treat Little Sam or any other children of mine."

And there would be other children; Gilly had confided in them she was with child on the way to Tarth, and Brienne had looked at her with a wistful expression on her face. 

They have not spoken about it, there is no point when they still haven't consummated their marriage, but Jaime knows Brienne wants a family. He wants one as well, wants children he can love instead of just sire, wants little blonde toddlers running around the beach like Little Sam does, wants babes with huge blue eyes like Brienne's and little girls who will pick up a sword as easily as a needle. 

He wants all of that, and when he curls around Brienne at night in their bed, the breeze from the sea coming through their window and his skin pressed against her to guard him against nightmares that nonetheless come, he curses Cersei and the fact that he still can't make love to his wife because of her.

…

Jaime kisses Brienne for the first time in the cove.

It's part of their routine to come down to the cove for a walk either in the morning or to see the sunset. Both, some days. It's Jaime's favourite time of the day when they are alone and they walk hand in hand like the knights and ladies of the tales she loved as a child. Brienne's taken to wearing loose silken tunics that billow in the breeze, some of them seem to have been made for her, with a lower neckline that shows her collarbones. She was very uncomfortable the first time she wore one, the scars from the time in the bearpit exposed. Selwyn had looked at the scars and sighed sadly but said nothing, and Brienne had relaxed. 

It's been a moon since their arrival, Jaime doesn't look like a scarecrow anymore and the bags under Brienne's eyes have finally disappeared. They are both feeling pretty good with themselves, even if Jaime woke her up during the night with a nightmare. It was the first one in a sennight, so there's progress. 

"The maester says I can start training again," Brienne says, and Jaime can hear the excitement in her voice. Out of everything, he knows it's the lack of training what had been the worst for her. He knows it's one of the worst things for him.

Brienne's still wearing both Oathkeeper and Widow's Wail, though she tried to give one of them back after the ceremony. "I can barely lift it, what good would it do strapped to my waist? You have two hands, you can use them both. Give it back when I can swing it," Jaime had said, and that was that.

"I have missed seeing you beating men into the dust," he says, and it's true. It's such a part of Brienne, the mastery of her body and her sword during a fight, one that Jaime hasn't seen in far too long.

"Pod has been training with the master at arms but I can tell he's picking up some vices," she turns to him with a mischievous smile. "I'll have to beat them out of him now."

That's the moment, with the sunset behind her and Brienne looking at him with a half smile and mirth in her incredible eyes, and Jaime feels the impulse, _the need_ , to kiss her. So far he has felt the same want several times, but it has never been this strong or this urgent, and it has always been with people around them. He stops and pulls at her arm until she does, turning to him, and whatever she sees in his expression makes her eyes widen and her lips part. Jaime takes a step, then another, trepidation making him short of breath. 

He doesn't fear kissing his wife, he fears not being able to, but when he leans forward and goes on tiptoes to reach her there is nothing to stop him, not even himself. He covers Brienne's lips with his own, his hand sliding up to grab the back of her neck and guide her down, closer, while his other arm curls around her waist. For a moment nothing happens, they are both frozen mouth to mouth, sharing breath, then Brienne sighs and Jaime presses harder against her, no finesse or delicacy. He's devouring her mouth, a hunger the likes he hasn't felt in ages taking over, and he knows he can't go too far, she's not ready for it. _He's not ready for it._

But he wants to keep kissing her.

"Jaime," she breathes against his mouth, wondering. Her hands are fluttering by her side, uncertain of where to go, and her mouth is moving clumsily, inexperienced, her tongue hesitant where she's tasting him. 

It's the best kiss of his life. 

They part for breath, Jaime pressing their foreheads together while he takes panting breaths. 

"Are you ok, Jaime?" she asks, and he makes an agreeing noise in the back of his throat, suddenly too overwhelmed for words. 

She guides them down until they are sitting on the sand, pressed together, and Jaime presses his lips against her, chastely this time, his mouth curled in a goofy smile. 

"Do you want to stay here for a while?" she asks, and he makes the same noise, dropping his head on her shoulder. 

He should feel bad, that just one kiss has rendered him speechless again when he has had no problems with his words since the first days on the island, but he isn't because he's been able to kiss his wife, and who cares whether he can speak to her or no for a couple of hours when he can kiss her. 

And that's what he intends to do.

He straightens and pushes until Brienne is laying on the sand, then leans over her and can see in her eyes she knows what he's going to do. This time she knows what to do with her hands, she cards her fingers through his hair and pushes him closer. "You want to kiss me again?" she asks, softly and full of wonder, like she can't believe it. Jaime nods. "Then kiss me."

He does. For the next hour, until the sun is completely gone below the waterline and the moon is up in the sky, Jaime kisses Brienne. He learns every sigh and moan and the softness of her lips and the sweetness of her tongue twining with his. He can feel how she presses her chest against his and how pebbled her nipples are, and he could bet she's getting wet for him.

But he's soft against her hip and knows he won't get hard. Not this time. 

It's not a problem, though. Because he's finally kissed his wife, and as much as he had tried to keep feeling confident, he had feared he would never be able to.

Now he knows he just needs a little time.

…

Widow's Wail feels in his hand like coming back home. 

Jaime hadn't known he had missed the feeling of his sword in his hand this much until it's there again, like a part of himself. In front of him, Brienne has Oathkeeper already unsheathed. They are facing each other in the courtyard, what feels like half of Tarth's population around them. 

They have attracted quite a crowd, here to watch their lady beat her husband into the dust, Jaime has no doubt. 

"You sure about this, Jaime?" Brienne asks, but he can tell she wants it as much as he does. She has her blood up, the feeling on Oathkeeper in her hand as heady as its twin in his.

"I am." He adjusts his grip on the handle of his sword and takes the first step, knowing Brienne will let him begin the attack. 

It's been almost six moons since they came to Tarth, the happiest of Jaime's life since childhood. He had been deemed hale enough to start training three moons back, right before Sam and Gilly went back to Horn Hill so their child could be born there. They had extended an invitation to them to come to visit as soon as both Brienne and Jaime were up to travelling. Unlike Winterfell, which was full of Starks, Jaime knew they would visit Horn Hill. There was not enough gold in Casterly Rock to repay the kindness the Tarlys had shown him. 

The first day Jaime had been allowed to train he had lasted two minutes, and gone non-verbal for an entire day. He knew, deep inside, that it was normal. He had endured captivity and starvation, had just recently started to gain some weight and it would take time and lots of practice to rebuild all the muscle mass he had lost. He knew this, and yet he had felt useless and broken when the master at arms had been able to disarm him and knock him into the dust in under two minutes.

He had even refused Brienne's touch that day, like the spoiled brat he could behave as sometimes, hurting her deeply. That night, Brienne had gone to bed stiff as a board next to him, presenting him her back, and Jaime had felt like crying. Ever since that day in the cove, he always kissed Brienne before they fell asleep, it was his favourite part of the day, the moment when he could lie next to her and kiss her lips and neck. They had gone as far as Jaime pressing his lips against her breasts, enjoying the flush that crawled down her face and how she would arch up and moan.

Seeing her like this, stiff and remote, hunched into herself was the worst.

"I'm so sorry, Brienne," he had said, pressing his lips against the nape of her neck. "My wife, my love, I'm sorry I'm such a spoiled brat and took out on you my shortcomings." He kissed her shoulder, passed his left arm over her body and put his hand over her heart. "Forgive me."

She had turned to look at him, and her eyes looked liquid, tears pooling in them though thankfully not spilling. "You don't do that to me again," she had said. "You can withdraw if you need when you get overwhelmed, I understand and I don't mind. Today wasn't that, today your pride was hurt and you took it out on me."

He closed his eyes in shame. She was right, of course she was. "I'm sorry."

She had kissed him then, the first time she had initiated the contact herself, and she had pressed him against their bed and climbed on top of him, resting her entire weight over his body, pinning him until Jaime had had to push her away, his breath short and panicky. She was the one apologizing then, her eyes wide and regretful on her face. 

That had been the first and worst, though not the last, set back they had. 

It had taken a sennight for his nightmares to quiet down again and for her to relax under his hands and reciprocate his touches, to stop looking at him with guilt in her eyes. 

"You have both gone through very bad things and survived," Selwyn has told them during dinner one of the nights, noticing the tentativeness between the two of them. "But nobody said things would be easy and perfect now. Things weren't easy and perfect for me and your mother, Brienne, and the worst we had seen together was a pirate attack in our coasts. Be a bit more gentle to yourselves and each other."

They did listen to Selwyn; Jaime had kept training, and so had Brienne, and they had kept sleeping together curled around each other, and kissing before bed for as long as they could stand it. Sometimes Jaime could feel his cock stir, the beginnings of arousal making itself known, and would moan and press himself against Brienne. The first time she noticed it she had started, and it had made his arousal flag, after that they both pretended it wasn't there.

One night, a moon ago, they had kissed naked on the bed, Jaime feeling his arousal thrumming in his veins. Brienne had been flushed while Jaime kissed her, and he had done what was turning into one of his favourite things, kiss down her neck and chest and spend some time on her breasts. He already knew he wasn't going to get hard enough to make love to Brienne, he hadn't yet as much as he wanted to. But that night her moans and sighs were going straight into his veins, and Jaime had not stopped on her breasts. He had kept kissing down her taut stomach, and kept going down until he was between her legs. 

"Jaime?" Brienne had asked, breathless, and as a response, he had pushed her legs apart. "What are you doing?"

"I want to taste you," he had replied, and it was at that moment he had realized how true it was. He wanted nothing more than pressing his mouth against her sex and licking her clean, he wanted to feel her juices run down his chin and wanted to feel her trembling against his mouth. This was the one thing Cersei had not taken from him in the Cells, and he knew with uncanny certainty he would be able to pleasure his wife. 

And he had. That day and every single night since then. Every night he was eager to get his mouth on her wet cunt after kissing her for a while, to suck on her nub and press his fingers into her. He loved to hear her screams and to feel her strong thighs clamped around his ears while he brought her to a shattering climax. 

He had even felt his own cock hard and leaking against the mattress for the past few days, and he thinks today will finally be the day he can make love to his wife. 

Jaime starts slowly, testing his strength and Brienne. They are fighting with Valyrian steel, something to be taken very seriously, any misstep can be very dangerous. They circle each other, matching feral grins on their faces, and they set their swords against each other, blades kissing. 

"Have your turned cautious in your way of fighting, Lady Lannister?" he asks, parrying an easy hit from Brienne. Their swords glint black and red under the sunlight, their matching blades a spectacle in themselves. 

"I was about to ask the same question, Lord Lannister," she retorts, feinting low for crossing to his right side. He blocks her easily, she's still not putting half her strength in it. "Where's the man who stole my sword and challenged me in the Riverlands?"

Jaime chuckles and attacks, a swift turn to her unprotected left which she blocks and parries deftly, a quick flurry of hits preventing him from answering for a minute. He can feel the blows on his arms this time, she's not pulling back her strength anymore, and the exhilaration of it makes his heart soar and his blood sing. He remembers that fight and sometimes wished he still had his right hand so he could properly challenge Brienne. 

He wouldn't be the man he is today if he still had it, and it was a fair price to pay for Brienne's honour. He'd pay it again. And yet, he only regrets they never ended that fight. 

"That man married you, so I'd rather not kill you now."

She laughs, and they both attack at the same time, their swords almost sparking against each other. They have no time for quips and teasing after that, not once their sparring match gets going in earnest. It's all Jaime can do to keep up, Brienne's stronger than him and fighting with her dominant hand, she has a longer reach and a longer sword. Both of them were aware of how this fight was going to end before they even started, that's not the reason they're doing this. They're doing this for fun because the master at arms had told them they are ready to spar against each other, he had nothing more to teach them, and they had both jumped at the chance to do it. 

They go at it fiercely, circling each other, their swords kissing while their breaths accelerate, and like this Brienne is alive and so fucking beautiful it takes Jaime's breath away, her eyes alight with fire and passion, her face flushed from exertion, mouth open and painting in the same way she does when Jaime makes her peak with his mouth and hand. 

He feels a moment of sudden, sharp arousal and it costs him dearly. Brienne feints right but hits left, tripping him, and suddenly Jaime is disarmed and on his knees, looking up at her with Oathkeeper resting against his neck. 

There is a cheer around the courtyard, but Jaime barely hears it. 

"Do you yield, Lord Lannister?" she asks, that mischievous glint he adores in her eye.

"Only to you, my wife."

She removes the sword and extends her hand to help him up, and Jaime takes it and once he's on his feet, uses that same hand to drag Brienne with him. "Pod, please collect my sword and make sure it gets back to me later." he casts a look at Brienne, her flushed face and dilated eyes. "Much later."

They ignore the laughs and snickers that follow them out of the courtyard all the way to their rooms, and once they are inside they fall on each other, kissing hungrily, desperately. Jaime fumbles one handed with the ties of his breeches, refusing to let his lips separate from Brienne, who's pulling at her own laces, as eager as he is to be naked. 

"Bed," Brienne mutters once she's freed herself of her clothes, her skin still glistening with sweat from their spar, her nipples pebbled. Jaime leans forward and catches one between his lips and Brienne moans, her hands stuttering where they are helping him disrobe. "Stop it one second," she protests, and he moves up to her neck until he's as naked as she is and they both fall on the bed. 

This time, when she's on top of him Jaime does nothing but moan and rub his erection against her leg. "Brienne." She smiles down at him and kisses him, her hand curling around his cock. He feels it like a shock, except this time, unlike the couple of times she has touched him there before, it doesn't kill his arousal but makes him harder. "Oh yes."

They kiss for a bit, Brienne's hand on his cock, Jaime's hand between her wet folds, rubbing against her nub and making her tremble, and when Brienne pulls back from his mouth she is staring at him seriously, her pleasure evident in her voice but held at bay. "Let's switch," she says, and he nods because there is no use tempting fate. 

Nothing can kill his arousal faster than remembering his sister on top of him.

Brienne is soft and pliant under him, and her body fits his perfectly. She spreads her legs and Jaime sets himself between them, the tip of his cock brushing her wet lips. "Come on, husband, I need you in me," Brienne says, and Jaime can't deny her anything she asks of him. 

He guides himself to her entrance and sinks into Brienne's body, and then has to stop and take huge breaths because the feeling is overwhelming. Nothing has ever felt as good as this, nothing can compare to Brienne's mouth on his, her hands on his back and her body surrounding him. Her strong legs are crossed behind his buttocks, egging him forward. Jaime starts to move, slowly at first lest he spills inside of her immediately, and then picking up the pace until he's thrusting frantically, sharing breaths with her, and she's matching him thrust for thrust, her walls so tight around him Jaime knows he's not going to last.

"I'm close," he says, his voice unrecognizable. "Touch yourself."

She does, her own hand rubbing at her nub in the way he's learned she prefers, and in no time they are both too far gone to hold on any longer. Jaime spills inside of her and can feel her trembling in his arms and shouting her release.

He collapses on top of Brienne, withdrawing, and she immediately encircles him with her arms. 

"Are you ok?" she asks, genuine concern in her voice. 

"Never better," he says, with a soft kiss to her mouth before closing his eyes and letting his head drop on her chest. "And you?" he asks because it was her first time and he could have been gentler

"You didn't hurt me, I'm fine," Brienne says, knowing what he was really asking. "What are you doing Jaime?" She asks, curious, though she makes no move to disentangle them.

"Sleeping, so I can get my strength to do that again and again when I wake up. We've been married for moons and now that we can do this, we have a lot of time to make up for."

Her laugh lulls him to sleep with a smile on his face. 

...


	9. Epilogue - Lady Lannister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Casterly Rock is nothing like Brienne had imagined from the stories Jaime has shared with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly can't understand how I started writing dark and angsty and still finish with a fluffest, but here it is, finally done. Thanks to everyone who left comments and kudos, you really make it easy to keep writing!

Casterly Rock is nothing like Brienne had imagined from the stories Jaime has shared with her. 

The castle is beautiful from the outside, white stone and red spires and the crimson banner flying from the battlements. It looks sturdy and solid, but she doesn't find it dreary, doesn't fear the shadows lurking in it. She didn't grow up here with the coldest father and most hateful sister in Westeros, though, and she thinks this makes all the difference. 

"Look, this will be your castle one day," Jaime says, and she looks to her side where he is riding with Alayne sitting on the saddle in front of him. 

Alayne is looking at the castle with a frown on her face, her little nose scrunched up in the same way her father's does when someone puts meat in front of him. Six years after getting him out of the Black Cells and he's still disgusted by it, Brienne still curses Cersei's name when she sees that face. 

"I want Evenfall!" she finally says, and Jaime shots Brienne an amused look. Alayne is the spitting image of her father, with the same green eyes and golden curls, the same delicate features, and apparently with the same stubbornness. 

Jaime would say she is the most stubborn of the two of them, while Selwyn usually just sighs and declares them a match made in the Seven Hells and how much they deserve each other, before he grabs his grandchildren and takes them to the cove, leaving Jaime and Brienne alone to settle their arguments in their favoured way: with swords in the yard on without them in bed. Most of the time, both.

"I'm going to have a full castle of grandchildren at this rate," Selwyn had complained one morning when they came to break their fast after an argument the day before and announced Brienne was with child again. He didn't really mind, though, not if the way he gazed softly at the twins, Alayne and Arthur, as they ran around the castle, or how much time he spent with little Cat in his arms was any indication. 

"You are the older of the two, Alayne, the Rock is yours. Evenfall is Arthur's," Jaime explains for the millionth time, and her frown deepens.

"I don't want it," she insists, entitled and pigheaded as only a child short of her fourth name day can be. " _I want Tarth._ "

"But Tarth's mine!" Arthur protests from his position in front of Brienne. He's the calmer of the twins, and favours her mother's looks, with big blue eyes and a wide full mouth, so much most people doubts they are twins. He's also stubborn as a mule, so Selwyn might be right after all. "I want to be the Evenstar, like Grandpa!"

Brienne rolls her eyes at their antics. Jaime spoils them, that's for sure. "One of you will be the Evenstar, one of you will be the Lord or Lady of Casterly Rock," she finally says, "when you are older, you can fight for it. The Evenstar will get Oathkeeper, the Lord or Lady of the Rock, Widow's Wail."

"What will Cat get?" Arthur asks, curious. Out of the two of them, he's the one always running after Selwyn to spend time with little Cat while Alayne chases after Pod, whacking at him with a wooden sword and demanding training. Unless he steps up on his training, Arthur will end up being the lord of Casterly Rock, after all. 

"We'll see when she grows up, we have no more castles to give," Jaime says, though they agree Cat's going to end up Lady of Horn Hill, if the look on Little Sam's face when they had visited Evenfall after she was born is any indication. 

They have agreed not to arrange marriages for any of their children, let them find matches for themselves if they can, but Little Sam has already asked to be fostered in Tarth and Brienne has the feeling that if he's anything like Gilly and Sam, her daughter is going to adore him. They also agree is the best fuck you to Randyll Tarly that the title is going to pass to someone not of his blood, not that any of them care about it, Samwell is Little Sam's father in everything that counts.

Genna Frey is waiting for them in the castle, and Brienne feels nervous for the first time since the beginning of this trip. She wants this woman to like her; for what Jaime has told of her, Genna is one of the few members of his family he has always liked it. She's blond as all Lannisters seem to be, and dressed in crimson in spite of her being a Frey. She's not, though, and she shows it proudly. Genna is a big woman, with a heaving bosom and strands of silver in her golden hair. Her round face and body are the only soft things in her, her green eyes as beautiful as Jaime's but not as warm. 

"My boy, it was about time you came home," she says the moment they enter the house, her words sharp but Brienne can see her hands are gentle and hesitant when she touches Jaime's face. 

"Aunt Genna," Jaime says with a smile, slipping into his aunt's embrace with ease. Genna seems pleasantly surprised, and only someone who can read him as well as Brienne does would notice the slight stiffness in his shoulders and jaw. "May I introduce you to my wife, Brienne of Tarth, Lady Lannister. And these are Alayne and Arthur, our eldest children. Cat stayed in Tarth with the Evenstar, but you're welcome to come to visit and meet her any time."

Genna looks at the children, who are presenting themselves stiffly to her, with a considering look. They are wearing the quartered crimson and blue garments Jaime ordered for them, both of them in breeches and tunic, and she raises an eyebrow at the lions and suns and moons decorating them but chooses not to say anything. "Twins?" Genna asks, and Jaime nods. "Good Gods, if they were as big as you when you were born I feel for your wife."

He had been terrified when the Maester had told them Brienne was expecting twins. Brienne could clearly see what he was thinking, Jaime had probably been picturing his childhood with Cersei, the careful manipulations and years upon years of being in her thrall, and those thoughts had brought back to the surface many feelings he had been trying to leave behind. 

"We can't let them believe they are one and the same, I don't care how romantic it sounds," he had said one day after the initial freak out when he had basically spent the entire day alone in the cove. Brienne had reassured him that no, that wasn't going to happen, they would never allow their children to become Jaime and Cersei reborn. It was impossible for that to happen again under their noses, only Tywin's indifference had allowed all of that to happen completely undetected for so long.

It had proven an unfounded fear the moment they were born looking nothing like each other, even when they were still mewling blonde babes it was obvious in the whitish fluff covering Arthur's head compared to Alayne's golden ruff, and Jaime had finally released all the tension the first time he had held them.

"It was a difficult birth, but they are worth it," Brienne says, and Genna's eyes turn to her, measuring everything she sees, from her garb, which is exactly the same as Jaime's and the children, to Oathkeeper and Widow's Wail strapped to her waist, to the Lannister cloak on her back. Jaime has put on Tarth's cloak, both as a taunt to his dead father and to give himself strength, and mutely handed her the sword before disembarking in Lannisport, and Brienne had understood the motivation for the gesture. 

He's under her protection, here where he feels the most vulnerable, _he's hers and no ghosts are going to touch him_.

Whatever it is Genna's looking for, she appears to find it. She signals to one of the servants. "Take Lord and Lady Lannister to their rooms, and the children to the guest room closest to them." She then turns to Jaime. "We'll have dinner in the Hall and leave all the boring issues regarding the Westerlands for tomorrow. I want you to tell me everything about Tarth," she looks at Brienne then. "Or you, if he's not feeling talkative tonight."

They follow the servant though they don't need to, not really. This is Jaime's home, where he grew up until the moment he joined the Kingsguard, he must know all the secret paths and shortcuts, and where everything is. He's following the servant, though, his hand tightly clasped with Brienne's. Once inside the Lord's rooms, he turns to her and presses his face against her neck. "I hate this place," me mumbles. "I should have told Aunt Genna I wanted a different room."

Brienne drops a kiss on his forehead and goes outside, calling the servant back. "Please don't bring our things here, set them in the guest room next to our children." She goes back to Jaime and he's looking at her like she had just slain a dragon for him instead of given an order to a servant. "What use is being the Lady of the Castle if I can't order people around?" she asks, and Jaime laughs and then kisses her. 

They are a little later for dinner after changing rooms because Jaime insisted on showing her how very grateful he was, and Brienne's still flushed and her clothes rumpled where they hadn't even bothered with taking them off, when they make it to the Hall.

Genna looks at them up and down, her brows shooting up at their appearance. They take their seats, Brienne sitting next to Genna, probably by her design, while Jaime has the children to his other side. 

"I met your father a long time ago, Lady Brienne," Genna starts while they serve the first dishes. Brienne is pleasantly surprised to notice is seafood soup, and Jaime smiles in delight at it. "I found him a very charming man. I hope he's doing well."

"He is, Lady Genna, thanks for asking. He's in Evenfall spoiling little Cat rotten," Brienne says, refusing a glass of wine and asking for some water instead. "We decided to come now before it gets too hard for me to travel."

"You're expecting again," Genna says, and Brienne can feel Jaime radiating smugness next to her.

"Yes, but if we wait until I'm not expecting and the children are all old enough to travel we will never see Casterly Rock."

Genna finally smiles at her. "You know, I was ready to hate you," she says sincerely, and Jaime makes a choked noise next to her. The children are bickering again, completely oblivious to the adult's conversation. "Oh, shush you, someone has to worry about you and our family, and it clearly wasn't going to be you. I heard what happened, and I worried, and before I knew it you had married well below your station and gone to Tarth, leaving the Westerlands to me. It made me wonder whether you were being manipulated again." The comparison with Cersei stings, even as Genna's protectiveness warms Brienne's heart.

"Aunt Genna!" Jaime protests, but she ignores him. Brienne grabs his hand and squeezes it to signal she's ok. 

"It's a valid concern, Jaime," Brienne says because it is. For anyone who hasn't met them and seen them together, they are an odd match. She's ugly and from a minor house, he's the Lion of Lannister, and though crippled, he will always be rich and beautiful, reasons enough for many women to want to marry him. 

"No, it's not," Jaime insists.

"After seeing you together, even for five minutes," Genna admits, "I know you're not after the Lannister name and fortune." She smiles at them and it changes her entire face, giving it a soft and friendly air. "You are lucky, not many people find what you two have."

"Thanks, Aunt Genna."

"But just so you know, my room is next to the one you're in now, you might want to keep it a bit quieter tonight."

Brienne feels her entire face flushing deep red, and is unable to look Genna in the eye for the rest of the dinner.

...

They stay in Casterly Rock for a fortnight, enough time for Brienne to fall for Genna's blunt charms and want to take her home to Tarth with them. 

"She's a widow, and so is my father," Brienne explains to Jaime during their last night in the Rock, both of them naked and sweaty after their lovemaking. 

She had been reluctant for all of five minutes the first night after knowing Genna could hear everything they were doing. Jaime, on the other hand, had rediscovered his eternal teenager and vowed to make her scream louder each night. He had succeeded, not that Brienne complained about his methods, she had enjoyed it very much, even if she hadn't been able to look anyone in the eye for an entire sennight.

"If we bring Genna to Tarth with us, who's going to stay in Casterly Rock?" Jaime says, entirely too reasonable for her taste. "I would have to act as the Lord of the Rock."

And he would hate every minute of it. 

Brienne knows the only reason they are still in Casterly Rock is because Alayne and Arthur had become fond of the place and of Genna, who keeps plying them with sweets and taking them to Lannisport in hopes of enticing one of them into wanting the Rock. She's given up on getting Jaime to stay, especially after the first couple of days when he had been jumping at shadows and avoiding certain corridors of the rock. 

Brienne had quietly spoken to Genna to remove anything that might have belonged to Cersei and any portraits of her, or of both of them, that could still be hanging from walls. She had also spoken candidly to her. "Jaime's not coming back," Brienne had said. "I won't let him come to a place that will rob him of voice and sleep, he hasn't had many nightmares since the twins were born and hadn't spent a day without speaking before we boarded a ship to come here."

"This is his home and we are his family, he's the Warden of the West," Genna had insisted, though Brienne could see she wanted to be convinced. She loved Jaime, after all, and wouldn't want him to suffer even for the family.

"Tarth is his home, I am his family, our children are his family." She had looked Genna in the eye. "You know what his sister did to him, you know what his father demanded of him. Jaime would be unhappy here, and I won't have it. And if we have to renounce to the Lannister name and the Rock, he looks good enough in pink and blue." She knew he did, both of them had seen him proudly wearing Tarth's cloak and they knew he'd have no problem shedding the Lannister one, that he only kept it now for his children.

Genna had smiled warmly at her as if she had finally earned her approval. "You really are Lady Lannister, my dear. That boy is very lucky to have such a fierce wife."

"I am lucky to have a loving husband as well," Brienne had said because she knew the chances of her, ugly and brutish as she was, had had of finding a husband who loved her half as much as Jaime did. And for that husband to be Jaime, she sometimes felt the luckiest woman in Westeros, even with the difficulties they still had. 

"Because of your face?" Genna had said, as perceptive as her nephew. "Listen to me, Brienne, you might be ugly, but only in the outside and only to people who haven't looked into your eyes. I see why that idiot boy loves you. I was one of the most beautiful women of my time, and they sold me to a craven Frey who couldn't even put a child in my belly. What good did my beauty do to me? It didn't make me happy, it didn't give me children to love, it didn't make me powerful or even give me love. Now I'm a fat widow and act as the Warden of the West, and men half my age fight for the privilege of pleasuring me because I'm powerful, but none will love me."

That's the reason she wants Genna in Tarth; the Evenstar is not so old yet as not to appreciate a good woman, they would make a good pair. 

"Stop matchmaking in your head, Brienne," Jaime says, mirthful, and Brienne's heart soars. He hasn't laughed the entire time they've been there unless it was in their room or when he was outside with the children as if the rocks of the castle were pressing down on him the entire time. "We'll invite Genna when the little one is born, and after that, if your father is amenable, he can come with the Twins to foster here for a time while you take over as the Evenstar. You'll have to, eventually."

She turns to him, incredulous. "You have it all worked out in your head, don't you dear husband?"

He laughs, eyes sparkling, and Brienne hopes somewhere in the deepest of the Seven Hells, Cersei is seeing this, is seeing Jaime happy without her, is seeing Jaime laughing while he makes impossible plans, is seeing Jaime making love to her in their old house where she started poisoning him, completely free of her influence. 

Brienne kisses him silent and rests her head on his chest. "Sleep now, we have a long trip ahead of us tomorrow. We're going back home."

"As my lady commands."

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said to myself I was done with this canon. Turns out I got jumped by another idea and I start writing it even before I finish this. Damn it.  
> Please come keep me company in the madhouse that is tumblr  
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/aviss

**Author's Note:**

> So, Warnings: Presumed Character Death. Canon Level Violence. Rape/Non-con (not graphic, but it's there). Torture. Forced feeding. Suicidal ideation. Food issues. PTSD. Recovery
> 
> I'll expand the warnings as I add chapters.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Lion in Winter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20730014) by [TheWitchsOwl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWitchsOwl/pseuds/TheWitchsOwl)




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